


Come to Zaddy

by saucytuggles



Series: Zaddy Life [2]
Category: Midnight Poppy Land (Webcomic)
Genre: Age Difference, Buddhism, Daddy Kink, Dark Romance, F/M, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Smut, Villain romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:55:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 23,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29448132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saucytuggles/pseuds/saucytuggles
Summary: In this Part 2 of the Zaddy series, Vincent brings Elise back to him, makes her an offer and pushes her too far. She has to make a decision.Content warning: the male lead is the villain. Dark romance has a morally compromised MMC, power imbalances, people doing bad stuff, and distressing situations. Also sexies. If you're good with that, see you in Part 3, Zaddy's Girl... 😈
Relationships: Vincent Balthuman/Elise
Series: Zaddy Life [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2163033
Comments: 103
Kudos: 34
Collections: Tiger Bites





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [S_Emolina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Emolina/gifts).



****

**COME TO ZADDY**

**a Midnight Poppy Land fanfic**

**by Saucy Tuggles**

This story is a gift to s_emolina. Vixens 4EVA. 

**Midnight Poppy Land** can be read on webtoons.com or the Webtoons app.

This is a derivative work based on some amazing characters totally owned by **Lilydusk**.

Cover art image based on a panel in Episode 5 of Midnight Poppy Land. 

Enjoy, bitches. **😈**

  
  


ONE

Elise sat at her computer, reconciling sales against inventory. For once she was able to focus on her task. It had been over a week since she had seen Vincent Balthuman and she decided that instead of rerunning the memories of that afternoon over and over, she would now be free. Her mind was finally her own again.

_Running those memories over and over under the covers, you mean, with your hand between your legs and images of ‘Mr. Balthuman, sir’ leaning over you—NOPE,_ she stopped her thoughts from going down that road again. _My mind is finally free._

Except for one final wrinkle. His casual order for “one of each” was taking longer than expected to put together. One of every model kit in their warehouse was more than eight hundred kits, and several items were backordered. But she pushed her vendors and stayed in touch with his assistant regarding the delayed delivery date. Once one last large shipment came in, his order would be delivered and the account closed. Then she could truly move on. 

“Here’s the mail.” Her boss dropped a bundle on her desk. “Oh, and this. It came by courier for you.” He handed her a black padded envelope. 

“So how’s that big order coming? I got another call from that CEO’s assistant. Pretty impatient to get his kits. He reiterated his boss wants you there to handle the delivery.” Her boss looked at her quizzically. “You must have impressed him.”

“Ah, well,” Elise looked down quickly, turning the mailer in her hands. It didn’t feel like there was anything in it. She didn’t recognize the return address. “You know these bigshot CEOs, they always like a personal touch.” She laughed awkwardly.

“Yeah, it always seems like, the more powerful they get, the more helpless they are for normal things. I just don’t want him recruiting you. This place couldn’t run without you, you know.” 

She nodded. “No worries, I’m a lifer,” she said as he walked to refill his coffee then returned to his office. She opened the mailer and shook the contents onto her desk. 

A black panty fell out onto her desk calendar. Elise jumped, shocked, and whisked it onto her lap. She looked around. Her boss’s door was shut and the one coworker present was distracted on the phone. 

Below the surface of her desk, she stretched the panty out in her fingers. In the back it was a thong but with two silken cords on each side to wrap her hips. The front was a black lace panel, with a strange triple spiral design woven into the lace. She ran her fingertips over the pattern. The lace fabric was exquisitely soft. The crotch panel was also soft, and rather wide for a thong. 

She felt the heat on her cheeks and slipped the panty into the pocket of her cardigan. She peered into the mailer for any explanation. It contained a slip of paper with the number of a courier service and a business card. With a surge of excitement, she read the card: Vincent Balthuman, CEO, The Balthuman Organization. The logo on the card was identical to the design in the lace panel. She flipped the card over to find a handwritten note. 

_Call me when you get this. V.B._

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

TWO

_Call him?_ she thought _. But I shouldn’t take a break right now. I need to get this reconciliation done._

Elise pictured Vincent in his office, sitting at the small table between the dark marble columns. Was he expecting her to call him immediately? He clearly had many responsibilities, so how likely was it that he was even thinking of her? But he had put intention into this package, it didn’t seem like the afterthought of a busy man. His card felt heavy in her hand.

Would he be pleased if he knew she had called him right away? If she called, as the note said, “when you get this.” If she delayed, would he be disappointed? But how would he know any of that? He wasn’t a magician. He couldn’t see her sitting at her desk, making this decision. 

_The real question_ , Elise thought, _is what do_ I _want? I could ignore all of this and get back to work. I’d see him once when we deliver his order, I’d keep everything professional, and then I’d never see him again._

Her fingers touched the silk lace in her pocket. _Or I could call him now, and see where this goes._ She laughed at herself. _Who am I kidding? I know where this goes._

She remembered how her muscles had felt the day after their encounter. Even two days after. 

_That was some crazy sexercise._

If she was honest with herself, she wanted more. Her body thrilled at the thought of him, a buzzing energy filled her, and the sounds of the office around her receded. Reading his name on the card made it all real again, like she was waking up into her most erotic dream. The corners of his card pricked at the skin of her palm, and she realized she didn’t want to wait. She dialed the number.

“Elise.” His voice was as smooth as she remembered. 

“Mr. Balthuman, I think you know it’s inappropriate for you to send me this item, particularly to my workplace.” 

“Inappropriate?” She heard his amusement. “I had no idea you were so zealous about…propriety.” Nervous excitement fluttered through her. “I directed you to call me so I can give you instructions.” 

“Instructions? I assumed the ah, item, was a replacement for the ones I…” she trailed off, embarrassed. _Talk about inappropriate_. She lifted her chin and finished. “For the ones that were ruined at your office.”

Vincent chucked. “Ah, yes, I remember. You broke them in your enthusiasm.” 

She glanced around her office, embarrassed even though no one else could hear him. Her colleague had stepped out, she was alone. Elise heard him shift in his chair, wondered if he was at that small table. 

“No, Elise, I’m afraid those are not a gift.” 

She straightened. “What do you mean not a gift? You want them back?”

“Yes.”

She heard him cover the phone, murmur something to someone else. She couldn’t hear what he said. Was he having this conversation in a meeting? Who else was there? He came back on the line.

“Tomorrow I want you to wear the item I sent you. All day. Before you sleep, place them back in the envelope, and the following morning use the number provided to courier the envelope to me at the address on my card.”

Elise froze, her mouth open, imagining wearing those lace panties, bearing his _logo_ , all day…she glanced at tomorrow’s schedule. A staff meeting, then most of the day in the warehouse, lunch with a supplier. By bedtime they would be—she realized she was holding her breath. Her face felt hot. 

“Elise?” he said. “Do you have any questions?”

“Ah—” she stammered. “No—no questions.” One part of her brain protested, while the other thought this was the sexiest request she had ever heard. Although, to be fair, it had not been a request. 

“Well, yes, one question, Mr. Balthuman.” She lowered her voice. “Why?”

“That should be apparent, Elise. I crave the fragrance of your pussy.”

“Oh.” She shrank in her chair, feeling like she was blushing from her hairline to the bottom of her feet.

 _Note to self,_ she thought. _Don’t ask obvious questions._

“Anything else?” He sounded impatient. 

“No sir,” she managed. 

“Very good,” he said. “I shall expect the envelope the day after tomorrow. Don’t disappoint me, Elise.”

“No, sir,” she held her phone pressed against her face. The glass screen cooled her heated cheek. “I won’t.” 

He cut the call. 

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

THREE

_ This is torture, _ Elise thought. 

She sat with her supervisor in their lunch meeting with the man who owned their largest supply company and his spouse. Normally Elise was a social butterfly, her smiles greasing the wheels of any business meeting, adding accurate figures and data to the conversation, making clients feel at ease. 

But not today. 

Last night, Elise had waxed her bikini area, and in the morning, Vincent’s thong had slipped over her bare skin with a silken, erotic feeling. She had considered herself in the mirror. 

The lace panel in front covered the thin strip of dark, gently curling hair she had left intact. The spiraling design was made of a shinier thread, and the light shimmered off it as she angled her hips from side to side. The crotch panel wasn’t silk, it was a fleecy absorbent cotton that was very comfortable. Each corner of the lace front ended in two soft elastic cords. The black cords created an unfamiliar sensation as they gripped her hips, but they did not roll or shift as she moved about. 

_ Not too bad, _ she thought. 

She turned away from the mirror and looked over her shoulder. The silk cords met in a V over her ass before disappearing between the lush, twin swells of her cheeks. Elise had worn thongs before, but seeing her ass on display in this particular thong made her heart race. 

_ Well, let’s find something conservative to wear. Maybe I can just forget I’m wearing it.  _

She searched her wardrobe for clothing that would lessen the sensations of the Balthuman panties. 

_ I don’t want air around my ass, so no skirts. Pants? No. If they’re roomy, the fabric will rub all over my butt. And tight would be torture.  _ She blushed, wondering if Vincent had anticipated this dilemma. 

She chose ivory leggings, a short midnight blue tank top and an extra-long cashmere cardigan in an airy celadon green. She looked herself over in the mirror.

_ I may be a little hot in the warehouse, but I can live with that.  _

She had made it through her morning staff meeting, and was only slightly sweaty as she emerged from the warehouse to travel with her boss to their lunch meeting. 

Now, as they sat waiting for the food, the lace panel began to prickle, tickling the areas she had waxed the night before. It didn’t help that this restaurant was overly warm. She was unable to focus on the conversation, her mind kept returning to the triple spiral covering her sex, the black cords she could feel pressing on her hips. 

She imagined how sweaty the cotton panel would be getting. That thought made her slightly aroused, and the realization that she was adding those juices to the mix did not help. 

“Elise, are you feeling alright?” Her boss gave her a concerned look. “You look hot, I mean, your face is really pink. Why don’t you take your sweater off?”

“No! I mean, excuse me, I need to use the restroom.” Elise fled. 

In the locked restroom, she examined herself in the mirror. 

_ I do look pink.  _

She pulled her leggings down, tried to adjust the vexing front panel. Her phone lit up with a text. 

She glanced at the screen, her leggings around her knees. It was the same number she had sent a video call to last week, Vincent’s mobile number.

_ Are you dressed appropriately, Elise? _

She sighed, began to reply, then a wicked idea swept over her. 

_ He wants to provoke me, does he?  _

She stepped her legs apart and lowered the phone, snapping a selfie of her pelvis. She looked at the photo. The taut arching cords framed the sinuous logo on the black panel which barely covered her pussy. The feathery light cashmere looked delectable behind her smooth skin. 

With a sly smile, she typed,  _ See for yourself _ , and pressed send.


	4. Chapter 4

FOUR

Her phone vibrated as they were leaving the restaurant. She looked down to see a text from Paolo at the company warehouse.

_ Great news. Finally got shipment from Barcelona. Had to throw my weight around a little, but everything’s in for your big order. _

She quickly replied.  _ Thanks! I owe you one! Can we get it ready for delivery tomorrow? _

As she pressed send, her phone rang. She signaled to her boss and sent the call to her earbuds, stepping aside for privacy as he went to unlock the company car. 

“Well, Elise.” She could hear the pleasure in the dark tones of Vincent’s voice. “I’m glad to see you have won the battle with propriety.” 

“Mr. Balthuman, how good to hear from you.” 

Paulo’s next text appeared at the top of the screen.  _ No can do, kiddo. I let the head guy’s assistant know right away like you said and now he wants delivery today.  _

“You received my message then.” 

As she spoke, she typed quickly to Paolo.  _ What do you mean today? It’ll be almost three by the time we get back. _

Vincent’s voice was almost a purr. “Yes, I did, and I have changed my mind. I cannot wait until tomorrow to have you return my property to me. I must have them tonight.” 

“It’s getting late in the day, Mr. Balthuman. There’s no time for deliveries I’m afraid.” 

Paolo’s text appeared.  _ That’s what they say, they want everything today, even if we get there after five. I checked with the boss, he said to keep them happy. We’re loading the truck now. _

Elise glanced behind her. Her boss was in the car, looking at his phone intently. She blew out a breath. Vincent was speaking.

“I must disagree, my dear. My assistant tells me that your supervisor just confirmed that you will be here to deliver my order, as negotiated, by five.”

She felt like a rabbit caught in a snare that she should have seen hidden in the grass. That she  _ knew _ was hidden in the grass.

She texted Paulo.  _ Okay. Got it. _

“Very well, Mr. Balthuman. I will be there at five o’clock to deliver your order, and, to return your ah, property.” This day had taken an unexpected, but, she admitted to herself, a not entirely unpredictable, turn. She closed her eyes. 

_ I taunted him and now he’s bringing me in. Okay. It’s not that big a deal, so he wants his panties returned in person. Isn’t seeing him again what I’ve been daydreaming about? So what if I have to catch a cab home with no panties? I can roll with this. I mean, I did last time.  _

An undeniable warmth spread through her at the thought of last time. 

_ Yep, we’re doing this. _

“Elise.” Vincent’s voice was firm. “If you did not want to see me this evening, then you should not have dangled such beauty in front of my eyes. Surely you knew what effect this would have?”

Desire bubbled at the tone of his voice. The wicked feeling swept over her again.

“No, sir,” she said, slightly emphasizing the  _ sir _ , “I had no idea. But perhaps you could share that with me.” She lowered her voice, adding a wide-eyed, breathy warmth. “What effect did it have?” 

He said nothing. 

“Vincent?” she said quietly.

She felt the air itself become more dense, as if ozone were accumulating before a thunderhead, as though static electricity were gathering across her skin. The downy hairs on her arms lifted in response. 

_ Here comes the lightning _ , she thought. 

“My dear Elise,” his voice was like rough velvet. “When I received your text, and I saw your mons, your delicate skin, bare and resting so beautifully under my Balthuman family crest, I became aroused. My arousal was powerful, and immediate. My mouth filled with saliva, and I saw my hands on those smooth hips, my fingers moving under those black cords. I saw my lips pressed to that lace. I smelled the sweet scent of your excitement covering my face. I felt my tongue thrusting through that fabric, biting at it, tearing it away. Thinking of it now, my cock is pressing against my pants, causing me considerable discomfort. The only thing I require right now is to know that everything in that picture will be under my hands, if not immediately, then within a very few, short hours. Therefore, I am sending a car to pick you up from your workplace. When you are ready, the driver will be waiting.”

He paused. Elise’s throat was dry. She felt seen, surrounded, as if she was already under those strong hands. She realized she wasn’t breathing, and tried one long, slow inhale. 

“I can drive myself, sir,” she ventured weakly.

“I do not leave things to chance, Elise. My driver will be waiting. You will get in my car, and you will come to me.”

She barely heard him. Her mind brimmed over with memories of him. The full reality of him. Seated before her, implacable. Standing over her, inescapable. Between her legs, furious, ravenous, inexhaustible.

“Well?” he said.

She tried to keep her voice steady. “Yes, sir.” 


	5. Chapter 5

FIVE

The sleek sedan pulled to the curb behind the delivery truck. Paolo emerged from the lobby of the tall office building with another Balthuman employee that Elise recognized as Vincent’s executive assistant. The driver opened Elise’s door for her as the two men approached. Paolo spoke first. 

“Elise, I’m going to drive around behind to the loading dock. I can wait while you handle the paperwork, then give you a lift back to the office.”

The assistant intervened. “No need. Mr. Balthuman’s driver will take the young lady wherever she needs to go after their meeting has concluded.” 

Paulo looked uncertainly at her. 

“It’s fine, Paolo. Just unload, take the truck back, and go home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He shrugged. “If you say so. Just text if you need anything.”

Paulo headed for the truck. The assistant opened the lobby door and stood there, waiting for her to enter first. 

****************

When they reached the executive assistant’s desk, he asked her for the delivery paperwork. The nameplate on his desk said Gabriel Allen. 

She felt a bit surprised that his soft-spoken, forgettable executive assistant was a real person with a name.  _ Why do I feel like I’m in someone else’s dream? _

Elise opened her leather tote and handed him the packing list, commercial invoice, and the engraved thank you note she included with all orders. He signed the acknowledgement of delivery, then put the other papers into a file on his desk. She stood nervously on his carpet. 

“This way, please.” He started down a hallway, away from the dark, polished door she had entered before. 

“Mr. Allen?” He turned to look at her. She hadn’t moved. “Mr. Balthuman isn’t in his office?”

“He’s in the boardroom, miss,” the assistant said. “Just this way.” 

With a quiet knock, Mr. Allen opened the double doors into a spacious, luxuriously paneled room, the main feature of which was a long table made from a single polished slab of tropical hardwood. Vincent sat at the head of the table, frowning at an array of papers spread before him. A tall man with a long braid bent from the waist beside him, gesturing at a particular file. 

“The young lady has arrived, Master Balthuman,” Assistant Allen stated. Satisfaction bloomed in Vincent’s eyes as Elise stepped forward. 

_ Master? _ Elise was startled by the honorific, but could not look at Mr. Allen, held as she was by Vincent’s gaze. 

Leaning back, Vincent waved his hand and the other man gathered the papers and exited. Mr. Allen closed the door and stood there quietly.

Vincent stood. “Elise.” He held out his hand. Elise could not believe she was here, with him. His physical presence was overpowering. The tailored suit perfectly delineated his broad, muscular shoulders; the black silk ascot set off his tanned skin and thick silver hair. But what called to her, what made her stomach do flip flops and her thighs clench, was the power in his steel blue eyes. She remembered those eyes, and looking into them now, she knew full well where she was. Her breathing sped up as she saw him again in the low light of his private office, his shoulders bare, his chest flexing, the thick cords of his neck standing out as he drew pleasure from the depths of her body. She remembered delight, ferocity, sensuality, anger, in those pitiless blue eyes. She looked into them now, and her belly felt molten as she saw again his determination, his lust, his supreme self-control. 

His hand waited. She approached him slowly, transfixed, and touched his fingers. He took her leather bag from her shoulder. A smile touched the edges of his mouth as he eased her sweater from her shoulders, his thumbs stroking across her skin. She was a deer, frozen under the gaze of a wolf, too close to turn, too close to run.

Without taking his eyes from hers, he handed her sweater and bag to the man behind her. 

“Take the young lady’s things,” he said. “And tell Tadashi to bring her something appropriate to wear. That will be all.” 

“To wear?” she repeated.

“You will have dinner with me this evening at the restaurant downstairs.” He gestured to her casual leggings. “Wearing suitable clothing.”

She heard Mr. Allen slip out, and once again found herself alone with Vincent Balthuman.


	6. Chapter 6

SIX

Vincent Balthuman was six feet tall. But standing in front of Elise he felt his stature increase. Her eyes grew larger as they swept across his body. Her gaze faltered at the sight of her small fingers engulfed in his hand, then dropped lower. Vincent knew with absolute certainty that despite her posture of demure discomfort, her eyes sought his cock. She couldn’t help looking among the sleek lines of his suit for the tell-tale promontory of his erection, iron, insistent, seeking her beauty. 

She would not be disappointed. His eyes darkened with pleasure. Three hours ago he had been meeting with Martin and Smithy when the image of her smooth, bare skin adorned with his family crest appeared in full color on his screen. The sight of his sigil, black and shining, resplendent over the gentle rise of her mons, the smooth swells of her outer lips just visible beneath, sent an almost intolerable spike of arousal through him. His description of his response had been perfectly accurate. Like a predator whose prey lay open and warm before him, he salivated, his fingers twitched, his cock throbbed. Even as he continued his day, the image pulsed at the edges of his mind, teasing him, consuming his mind. When she had walked through the door he recognized the soft sweater that framed her hips in the photograph. It slipped under his fingers as he bared her shoulders. And now, she stood before him, her eyes wide and dilated like the prey she was. 

The milky hollows where the tendons of her neck gracefully merged with her collarbone called to him. He took in her luminous skin, the quick smile on her yielding mouth, the shining fall of her hair. He wanted his mouth on her. He wanted to cover her, possess her, own her. He needed to add her to his vast collections of treasures. 

He let her pull her fingers out of his. She crossed her arms, chilled without the protection of her sweater. 

“So, Mr. Balthuman,” she began. “Did you really want me to go over your order with you? Or, am I just here to give you back your—” The delicious tint of pink across her face, the way her eyebrows drew together, she dropped her eyes, a pulse fluttered at her neck—her shame called to him, beautiful, irresistible. “—your ah, panties.”

She was standing so close. He stepped closer. 

“Of course I do not want to discuss the order. I do not concern myself with such things. The only reason I purchased—” His hand began to trace the side of her neck, slowly. “What was the amount, beautiful Elise?”

“Ah—ah—approximately $150,000.” She was making a supreme effort to remain still under his fingers. 

“The only reason I acquired $150,000 worth of toys was to ensure that I would experience the singular pleasure of your company.” 

“Mr. Balthuman,” she said, swallowing and stepping back. “I—I mean, the last time I was here, it was—.” She marshaled her thoughts, standing straighter. Her fingers unconsciously touched the spot where his had been an instant before. She lifted her head. “I’ve never done anything like that. It was, memorable, certainly.” Her eyes flicked to the side. “Pleasurable,” she admitted. “But I’m not sure if I want to continue—I’m not sure why I wore these today, why I did what you—” a flash of confusion and something else crossed her face as she trailed off.

“Elise,” he said. “Do not torment yourself. Surrendering your body to me could not be helped. Cannot be helped. I will show you. Shall I put my hand on what is mine?”

Confusion flickered over her face, then he saw understanding spread, saw the moment she pictured his hand on her, over the lace panel, how it would feel as his fingers cupped her, held her, pressed into her. He watched arousal light up her body. She shifted her feet, her color changed, her breathing quickened, excitement rose in her eyes. She craved his touch. 

Despite this, she demurred. “What do you mean, sir?”

He smiled at the title, emerging unbidden from her lips. 

“Invite me, Elise. Ask for my hand on you.”

Convention and embarrassment warred with desire on her face. Vincent waited. It was the battle for her mind he intended to win. 

“Elise.” His voice was gentle. “Ask me for what you want.”

Her head twisted away, looking to her shoulder. 

“Mr. Balthuman, please.” Her voice dropped, low and rushed. “Touch what’s yours.” 

She held herself still, anticipating. 

“Good girl,” he murmured, and returned his hand to her neck.

Her eyes flicked open in surprise, then closed as he caressed the sensitive column of her throat. Her skin was so flawless, radiant. His fingers moved lightly over the lines and hollows his mouth wanted to consume. She sighed, and he felt his arousal surge. His hand clasped the front of her neck firmly, the other explored the smooth perfection of her bare shoulders, then moved down her front, between her breasts, over her dark blue top. She did not startle at his bold touches, but relaxed beneath his hands. He played with her breasts over the fabric, deliberately slowing his breathing, letting his palm linger on her soft flesh. Her nipples rose to his fingers, and she sighed again. He slid his hand lower, tightening the other on her neck. He traced the bones of her hips, moved his palm over her glorious ass, down, teasing the sensitive area under her buttock. She squirmed closer to him. If it wasn’t for his hand holding her neck, she would be pressed into him. He moved his hand between them, squeezed her inner thigh gently, then at last, held her sex. Through the two layers of fabric her pussy felt warm and cushioned under his fingers. He found and breached her privacy, pressing into the opening to her cunt. She rewarded him with a mewl of need, for his ears alone.

“Sir,” she whispered. 

He pictured his crest under his hand, emblazoned across her skin, and felt the deepest pleasure. 

“Yes, Elise?” he asked. 

“I invited you to touch what’s yours, not everything.” Her eyes opened a crack. In contrast to her question, her eyes were as hooded and shameless as if she were seducing him. 

“Ah, but that is the first lesson, my dear. While you wear my crest, every part of you is mine.”


	7. Chapter 7

SEVEN

There was a soft knock on the boardroom door. 

“Come in,” Vincent called. 

Elise jumped back off his hand, and gave him a sharp look as she quickly adjusted her clothing, her face red. A smaller man with close-cropped hair entered carrying a garment bag and a small bundle. 

Vincent returned to his chair at the head of the table. “This is Tadashi, my personal assistant. He will escort you to a room where you can dress for our dinner.” 

****************

Tadashi was a plainly dressed, quiet man. On the short walk to the women’s lounge, Elise attempted conversation.

“So you’re Mr. Balthuman’s assistant too?”

“Mr. Allen is Master Balthuman’s executive assistant for business matters. I am his personal assistant. A butler of sorts.” 

“Butler?” she repeated. “For his office?”

He opened the door to a modern, tastefully appointed room with several inviting couches and a low table. Beyond was a wall with mirrors and a long shelf with sinks. Beyond that was the women’s restroom. 

“I assist Master Balthuman in his living quarters.”

Elise stepped into the lounge, then turned back. 

“Wait, so he _lives_ here? In his office?” Elise pictured Vincent sleeping in the “private office” attached to his larger office. 

Tadashi chuckled. “No, Master Balthuman’s main residence is his country estate outside of Narin City. But it is often more convenient for him to stay in town during the week, so he maintains an apartment on the top floor.” 

_I need to google him much more thoroughly_ , Elise thought. _Businessman my ass. More like a king._

He unzipped the garment bag and handed her a dark champagne colored dress, made from a draping satin fabric. She took it carefully. The tag was embroidered in elegant lettering: _Exclusively designed for the Balthuman Organization by Narin Custom Clothiers._

“How do you know it’s my size?” she asked. “There’s no size on here.” 

Tadashi opened the other bundle and handed her matching heels. 

“It’s your size,” he said. “There’s also a kit here you can use to refresh yourself. Leave your clothes with the kit and I’ll put them with your other things.” 

Elise contemplated the satin toe and ankle straps on the elegant, arching shoes. 

_Good thing I just got a pedi,_ she thought. 

The four inch high block heel was covered in tiny rhinestones. 

“I’ll wait outside. Let me know if you need anything.” Tadashi closed the door.

****************

Elise emerged transformed. The straps of the dress were so fine as to be almost invisible against her skin. Two shimmering panels barely covered her breasts, but the plunging overlap between them revealed the inside swells of both breasts and a deep swath of her abdomen. The panels were embroidered in swirling patterns that brought to mind the wings of a butterfly. In the back, the lustrous fabric curved around her ribcage, dipping to meet at her spine, leaving most of her back bare. The fine threads of the shoulder straps came together behind her shoulders, then split into a number of draping strands that joined the panels near her waist. A flared skirt stopped mid thigh. The shining fabric of the skirt was not altogether sheer, but at the right angle, her long legs were silhouetted through the swinging fabric. The satin heels threw her calves into relief, arched her back and tilted her hips forward. The heels made her taller than Tadashi.

“I feel naked,” she told Tadashi, who looked at her approvingly. 

She had used the kit Tadashi had provided to add a lightly scented shimmer to her neck and shoulders, to the valley between her breasts, and her long arms. Her lips had a velvety matte finish, she had given her eyes a little pop, added volumizing mascara, and dusted her cheekbones and eyelids with iridescent powder. She had styled her hair into a side swept, over-one-shoulder look. 

“Master Balthuman will be most pleased,” Tadashi said. “He waits for you downstairs.” 

  
  



	8. Chapter 8

EIGHT

Elise wished she had a long coat. Or a sweater. Or a blanket. Or a bath towel. Anything. The halls and lobby of the office building had been mostly empty, but when they got off the elevator on the second floor, there was a hotel bar with live music on one side of the open atrium, and a fancy restaurant, Der Frevel, on the other. Both venues were busy and Elise found herself under the admiring gazes of men and the irritated gazes of women as Tadashi led her into the restaurant. 

She cringed at the thought of sitting in the busy restaurant being ogled by dozens of people, but Tadashi walked quickly through the dining rooms to a curtained door at the back. Elise tried to keep up but couldn’t take long strides in the tall heels. He slowed for her, extended his hand and helped her balance as she stepped through the carved wooden door. 

There was one table in the intimate private room. One wall held shelves and shelves of wine bottles, the others were oak paneled, with soft, recessed lighting. A large, classical painting dominated one wall, while an elegant ceramic vase stood softly lit on a pedestal in the opposite corner. Elise’s heels made a warm, clicking sound on the parquet floor as she entered, then stopped, unsure. Vincent stood behind the table, facing sideways, speaking on his phone. He was backlit by a small gas fireplace, over which hung a large square mirror in an ornate frame. When he saw her he froze, stopped talking. Staring at her, he said a quick word into his phone and ended the call. 

Tadashi took one look at his master and retreated. Vincent held still for such a long moment she felt uncomfortable. She looked at herself in the mirror behind him. Her hair fell in animated waves over her bare shoulder. The fabric of the dress was so light it seemed to float over her skin, the warm light streaming over the rippling surface like waves on a living shore. Her skin seemed to glow, the shimmering powder caught the light, creating a fragile halo across the surface of her exposed skin. She looked like she had been lifted from the pages of a book of folklore, a creature who bewitched men, who led them to their dreams and their doom. 

_ Wow _ , she thought. 

Vincent faced her, his hunger for her plain on his features. 

“Elise.” He hesitated. “You are a revelation.” 

At the sound of his voice, the heat of his gaze, Elise felt suddenly at ease. The look on his face was like a shot of whiskey burning in her gut. She felt her power over such a powerful man. As she approached him, the clipped gait the heels required swung her hips into a strut, which she leaned into. She stopped mere inches before him, turning her hip, accentuating the long lines of her legs. At 5’7, the satin heels put her almost at eye level with him. She petted the black silk of his ascot tie with one fingertip.

“Why so surprised? You’ve seen me before, Mister, I mean  _ Master _ , Balthuman?”

A slow smile spread across his face. “Keep saying it, my dear, you may find that it’s true.”

She smiled warmly at him. “I should thank you for taking me to dinner. It must have been difficult finding a reservation at such a popular place, especially on such short notice.” 

“Not really,” he replied. “I own this restaurant.” 

She leaned forward, her lips close to his jawline. 

“Mmm,” she purred, thinking of the crest beneath her dress. “Poor man, so much property to worry about.” She curved forward, her mouth almost to his ear. “Still, thank you in advance for dinner. So thoughtful. My appetite right now is…voracious.” The last word rolled over his skin in a puff of warm air. 

She put her lips on his earlobe, nipped it, then leaned back, away from him. His nostrils flared. 

After a moment he chuckled. “Elise, you vixen. So eager. Sit with me, my dear. I shall wrap you around my cock soon enough.”

She stepped toward the other side of the table but he caught her wrist. He sat and brought her onto one of his big thighs, both her knees inside his splayed legs. His big hand spread across the warm skin of her back.

“Here,” he said, “is where I want you.”


	9. Chapter 9

NINE

There was an unobtrusive knock, then a sommelier entered accompanied by a waiter bearing a tray. Elise started at the intrusion and turned her face away from the men. The dress made her feel so exposed. But shielding her chest only bared her back to them, so she simply burrowed into Vincent as best she could. 

As the waiter poured water and placed several small plates of food on the table, the wine steward bowed. “Master Balthuman, what an honor to serve you this evening. May I offer you a recent acquisition, a Brora thirty-year single malt?” 

Vincent nodded. “And bring the food out as soon as it is prepared.” He looked sidelong at her. “The lady is ravenous.” 

Elise stretched her glimmering arms around his neck. Vincent smiled.

“Of course. And what would the lady like to drink?” 

Vincent tilted his head toward her. Elise whispered in his ear. “Pick for me.” She peeked at the sommelier.

He considered. “A cocktail. Make her a Paper Plane, on the rocks.” 

“What’s that?” she whispered to him.

“You’ll like it,” he murmured. 

“Excellent choice, sir.” The two men disappeared. Elise relaxed, sitting up and sipping her water. She eyed the fancy plates. The food was arranged like art on each one. Vincent seemed more interested in exploring her dress, then restrained himself. He kept one hand curved around her waist, and the other on the table, where he toyed with his knife.

“Good thing it’s warm in here,” she said, looking at him in his wool suit, vest, cravat, then at herself, almost naked in her slips of satin. “Otherwise you’d have to give me your jacket.” 

Vincent looked amused. “I would find some other way to warm you.” He pulled her into his body, breathed in her scent. 

She nodded to the dishes. “What are those?”

“Shall I feed you?” He moved his heavy silver fork aside to pull the small dishes forward. “These are grilled oysters. This appears to be tempura…leaves?” He lifted the crisped green item. “And a dipping sauce. This one, I believe is raw scallops. I think I would like you to try the oyster.” 

He lifted an oyster shell, still warm, and brought it to her lips. She opened her mouth to accept it, then lifted her fingertips to hide her chewing. Watching her intently, he ate one himself. She pointed to the tempura, and he dipped one and offered it to her. She leaned forward and ate it from his hand. 

“The oyster was good, but I really like that leaf,” she said. “But how do you not know what it is? Didn’t you order this?”

They looked up as the sommelier brought in their drinks, followed by two waiters with a series of dishes. Elise ducked her head into Vincent’s neck. She could not get used to strangers coming so close when she didn’t even have a bra on. Vincent shifted his arm to pull her closer. 

“I didn’t choose it. It’s a fixed menu, my dear. A seven-course dégustation,” he explained as the men spread more dishes across the table and moved Elise’s setting next to Vincent’s. 

She shielded her face from the waiters and whispered in his ear. “You shouldn’t call your own food disgusting.”

A laugh burst from his chest. The waiters froze, then moved more quickly, careful not to look at one another. 

“Dégustation means tasting, Elise. A menu that puts together different flavors, for effect. You taste a small amount of many different things.” His smile lingered. 

Vincent handed her her drink. She sipped it and her eyes widened. 

“I do like it,” she murmured into his cheek, catching the aroma of the bittersweet cocktail on her breath mingling with the delicate musk of her skin, the elegant masculine tones of his cologne. He sensed it too, turning his head, breathing deeply. Flustered, she pretended to examine the fine china and silver at her setting. The head waiter was giving a brief explanation of each dish.

“Can you ask them for chopsticks?” she whispered in Vincent’s ear. He looked at her. “I like chopsticks better,” she murmured. 

He turned to the head waiter. “Bring chopsticks for the lady.” The man nodded.

“When they’re done, I want you to feed me a scallop,” she whispered.

The hand that had been stroking her hip stilled. His eyebrows lifted.

“When they’re done, could you please, pretty please, feed me a scallop?” Her whisper came slow and throaty. “ _Master_ Balthuman.”

His arm tightened around her, an admonition. Strangely though, his crushing strength enclosing her much smaller body calmed her. It felt good. She leaned into him. Then the other men were gone and Elise had her chopsticks. She sat up and looked at the food. 

Vincent speared a scallop with his heavy fork and offered it to her. It was a sea scallop, large, tender, rich as butter.

She examined it, turning her head this way and that. She leaned her head to his. 

“It has flower petals on it.”

His lips twitched up. “This is a very exclusive restaurant. They do that.”

She liked the intimacy of whispering to him. “Also, it’s too big for my mouth.”

He put the fork down on his plate. “I am certain you can fit larger things than this in your mouth," he said dryly. "But your beauty is beguiling me, so I will indulge you.”

Using his knife required either releasing her waist or reaching far around her and pressing into her. Vincent chose the latter, leaning them both forward as he cut the scallop in half. He lifted it again to her lips.

This time she sniffed it delicately, then extended the tip of her tongue and licked it. Finally she opened her mouth, accepting the pale delicate flesh from his fork. She felt his erection swell against her leg. He stared at her as she swallowed, then absently ate the other half himself. 

Tilting her face down, she ran her hand lightly over his pants, found his hardening erection, explored the length of him. She leaned her face to his again.

“I like this menu. You keep adding flavors.”


	10. Chapter 10

TEN

Her hand on his cock inflamed Vincent beyond measure. She had no idea how bold she was, the lines she crossed. Sophisticated, glamorous women beyond number had offered themselves to him. He picked and chose among them according to his tastes, and they carefully sculpted themselves to meet his desires. She was different. She was surprising. She darted away from him, and in the next moment clung to him for protection. She seemed unaware of her physical perfection, uncomfortable with her effect on men, except for him. Her erotic longing for him was obvious, but she fought herself, trying to deny herself his presence. She failed each time, and he knew she would fail again, every time. She would return to him, like a cat who must lay before the fire, even if it burns. His desire for her spiraled away from his control. Not just to have her long, perfect legs open beneath him, but to have _her_ , her loyalty, her adoration, her obedience. Given to him because it was his due. 

He looked at her with satisfaction, perched so delicately in his lap, holding his erection in one hand and a pair of red chopsticks in the other. What would she do next? The pleasure she gave him was truly endless. 

She seemed to have become shy again, this time from her own bold action. She stroked him over his pants once more, then gave the head of his cock a small squeeze and released him. He reached for his whiskey and took a stiff gulp of the expensive liquor, which was several years older than the bewitching woman on his leg. 

She looked at the table. “What’s this?” She pointed to a dish. 

“Prawns,” he said. “Shrimp.” 

“This?” She leaned forward to see into the bowls, inadvertently sliding her ass against his cock. 

“Beef,” he said, keeping any hint of strain from his voice. “Wagyu tartare, I believe.”

“I want to try that,” she said. She looked at their plates, and a sly look he was beginning to recognize crept over her features. “But I don’t care for these plates.” 

“The plates,” he repeated. 

She sat back, and her warm thigh settled over his erection. 

“Yes, I dislike this tableware, Master Balthuman.” 

Vincent knew she called him that to tease him, not from a place of humility or respect, not from any sincere acknowledgement of their relative positions. This irked him. For this reason he preferred ‘sir’ from her, but at the same time, it was pleasurable to contemplate the various ways he would eventually draw the title ‘master’ from her lips.

She glanced at him. “I’ll have to find something else to eat off of. Maybe…” She touched the hand that rested on her hip. “…your wrist?” 

He smiled again. There it was. The surprise. 

She lifted his hand and turned it, pushing up the fabric of his suit jacket. She undid his cufflinks and placed them on the table. She turned his shirt cuff up, exposing his wrist. 

“There, that’s better.” 

He held his wrist up as she used her chopsticks to transfer a mouthful of the spiced tartare from the dish. It was cool and wet on his skin, the fresh meat smell made him salivate. He watched, entranced, as she lowered her mouth over the beef, her lips closing on his wrist. He could feel the suction and warmth, her tongue carefully cleaning his skin. The expression on her face as she fed off his body, her eyes closed, making small pleased sounds, was pornographic, indecent. Lust speared through him, and he fought to stay still, wanting to scatter every dish and fuck her on the polished wood of his table, but wanting still more to see what she would do next. 

She glanced at him. “I like this plate better.” Doubt flickered in her eyes at his fierce expression. “Do you?”

“I do.” He ran a finger down her spine. “You are making me hungry.” 

She smiled, returning to the seductress, which pleased him. 

“And this one’s shrimp?” She lifted out a prawn from the macadamia cream it rested in, letting the succulent ivory sauce drip off. She tilted her head back, giving him a close view of the long sinuous line of her throat, and brought the prawn to her mouth. But not before a drop of the sauce fell thickly onto her chest. Vincent watched it slowly crawl toward the valley between her breasts as she sucked the meat out of the prawn’s shell. 

“Oh,” she said, looking down. There was a trace of sauce on her lower lip as well. 

“Allow me,” he said. 

Vincent ducked his head to her chest, and ran his tongue over the drop of sauce, then further up, across her collarbone. He brought his free hand to cover her breast, feeling her hard nipple under his palm through the thin fabric. He pulled back, his eyes drawn to her lower lip. He could feel his breathing, fast, as if he were in pursuit of something. His cock was fully extended, painfully hard, the skin across the crown drawn tight, only held back by his pants. Her eyes were wide, she held her breath. He could do anything in this moment and she would not resist him. 

He mastered himself. He drew his thumb across her lower lip, collecting the cream, then pushed it into her mouth. She sucked the pad of his thumb, as she knew he wanted her to. She looked into his eyes, her lips closed around him, acquiescing to him. In this moment she was without fear. Instead, her eyelids fell, heavy with arousal. He withdrew his thumb from her mouth. 

“Sir,” she breathed.

Perfect.


	11. Chapter 11

ELEVEN

Elise felt dizzy with lust. Vincent’s eyes, his touch, the warm private room, the air on her exposed skin, that damn delicious cocktail drink—it overwhelmed her boundaries, opened her gates. She looked into his eyes. He looked self-satisfied, aroused, and something else, a flicker in the depths—she tilted her head, curious. Suddenly she stood, swung her leg over him, straddling him on the chair. She felt his waistcoat against her stomach through the light fabric of the dress. 

“Vincent.” 

The flared skirt fell around her legs as she settled over his cock. The stiff ridge in his pants jutted into her.  Elise wanted him to feel her, how very close she was. She slowly moved the crotch panel of his Balthuman thong over his erection. His bright blue eyes darkened now, clouded with arousal. As she moved on him she knew hers did the same.  He gripped her waist with his strong hands. 

He growled at her, “What did you call me before?” She was confused. “What do my inferiors call me?” 

“Master Balthuman?” 

She stopped moving, suddenly uncertain. He made a frustrated sound and began moving her hips with his own hands, circling her on his cock.  The sensations shot through her, impossible to deny. Her arms slid over his shoulders, her hands ran up into his thick hair, seized it in her fists. He allowed this trespass, not moving as she writhed on him, her hands gripping the back of his head. She tilted her hips forward and back, rubbing her clit over his erection.

“Ohh,” she moaned. 

“Say it,” he said. “Call me what I am.” 

Her brain felt as clouded as his eyes. “Master Balthuman,” she said. 

“Again.” He pushed his pelvis up into her.

“Master Balthuman.” 

“Again.” 

“Ohh, ahh, Master—Master—Vincent…”

Her thoughts protested.

_ What on earth am I doing? Am I really grinding on him in a restaurant? This is so embarrassing, get it together. And quit calling him master! _

Suddenly appalled, she bit her lip, released his hair, attempted to squirm off of him. His hands tightened, held her in place. She froze.

“No,” he said. His voice was like steel. “Complete your orgasm. Come on me. Now.” 

The command in his voice rang through her, but she still hesitated. 

His fingers squeezed her waist painfully. “Orgasm on my cock. Expose yourself to me. Show me the pleasure you take from me.”

She held still, their eyes locked together. The room was perfectly quiet, the warm air motionless, draped around both their shoulders. His hands gentled on her waist, she felt the heat of his palms through the dress. His brow shone with the barest gleam of sweat. “Show me,” he said. 

The intimacy of his words  reached her. She began to move again, slowly moving her clit over his straining erection. It was so much. So much feeling. She bit and bit at her lip as she found a flow, back and forth. She was already so excited, she pressed more vigorously against him as her rhythm increased. Her hips moved back and forth, her chest swayed and her breasts bobbed with the movement. She cast her head back, then as her speed against him increased, she threw her head forward, chin almost to her chest, her brows drawing together with the sensations. 

He released her hips and lightly rested his hands on the table behind her. She felt him release her, and continued moving on her own. She was so close. 

As she ground against him, she felt pulled into a storm at sea, the pulsing crash of the waves was the pressure building inside her, a force that couldn’t not be resisted. All she could do was obey the needs of her body, her clenching cunt, her beating heart. The orgasm he had demanded rose inside her, a spasming release. She cried out, a long cry , forgetting where she was, her arms twining around his neck. Liquid drenched his Balthuman thong and wet his pants beneath. When she opened her eyes, he was watching the abandon on her face, the delirium she was helpless to hide. He watched how, in her deepest ecstasy, she reached for him. 

Elise felt a pang in her ribcage, needed to escape his gaze. She flung herself forward onto his broad chest, her face once again in the crook of his neck. He brought his hands in and stroked her back. She shuddered with a late tremor of her orgasm, moved her pussy lazily against his still surging erection.

“Vincent,” she sighed. 

“Master Balthuman,” he said. 

“You’re not my master,” she muttered. “I’m not your inferior.” 

“I like to hear you say it. Satisfy me,” he murmured, running his hands from the crown of her head to the small of her back, and over the tops of her buttocks. 

“Why can’t I say no to you?” she murmured.

“It’s your nature, and mine. They call to one another.” He sounded almost soothing. “Say it.” 

“Master Balthuman,” she said, giving in, and this time there was no irony in her tone. 

  
  



	12. Chapter 12

TWELVE

She rested quietly against him as he petted her. His strong, heavy hands traced the long curves of her frame, finally coming to rest on her thighs. He slipped his hands under the flimsy skirt, caressed her skin directly. 

“Elise.” 

_How did I get here?_

She felt uniquely vulnerable with him. Part of her mind could not believe her own behavior, the words, sounds that emerged from her body in quick response to his demands. It was like she turned into someone else, someone she didn’t recognize. To another part of her, he felt innate. Opening her secrets to Vincent, she felt like a moonflower turning her face to the king of the night, finally blooming, part of the order of the natural world. 

_Have I completely lost it_? 

“Elise.” 

She pulled her head off of his shoulder, regarded him. He looked serious.

“I have come to a decision.” 

She focused on him. He handed her her drink, and she took a long swallow. He looked down at her body, all over her. She replaced the drink on the table. 

“Sir,” she said. “Are you going to tell me?”

He ran his hands down her upper arms. She could still feel his cock nudging her through his pants. 

“I want you to keep coming back to me.” He looked from her chest to her face. “To be clear, I want to continue fucking you. And to do much more than fuck you.”

Elise felt the strangest urge to laugh.

“Are you asking me to be your girlfriend, Mr. Balthuman?”

He exhaled quickly, frowned. “Certainly not.” 

“Mistress?” She pictured herself tucked away in a condo somewhere, like a firefly in a jar.

“No. I simply want to possess you. To continue possessing you.” He lifted his glass. “Which is precisely what you want as well.”

 _Do not say fuck buddy_ , she thought wildly. _But_ _I don’t understand. Is he wanting to be my what? Lover?_ None of the images this term brought to mind - chocolates and handholding and campfires and edible panties - fit the intense, tightly controlled man between her thighs.

“You’ll have to explain it to me, sir,” she said slowly.

He refilled his whiskey from the decanter the sommelier had left. He swirled the glass, looking thoughtfully into the roiling amber liquid. 

“I want you to come to me. Give yourself to me, as you did just now. But more than that, I want to teach you, educate you. From, _educere_ , to draw out.” He turned his head, met her eyes. “I want to draw you out. Draw pleasure from you, draw everything from you.” 

“Sir?” She didn’t understand, but she didn’t pull away. 

“Before, when I took you to bed, you were not a virgin.” 

Elise felt her cheeks fire at his words. “God, I hope not. I mean, of course not.” 

“Tell me what it felt like.” He drank. “When I possessed you that afternoon.” 

“Sir?” She squirmed on his lap. How did he always manage to go to this raw place with his questions? It was like every ordinary human trapping, every usual barrier, was stripped away with him. Like all he dealt in was her truths. She felt more naked than she had when she put on his skimpy dress. 

“When I fucked you, took my pleasure from you, what did that feel like?” 

“It felt like—like—it was just really good sex, alright? Really great sex—is that what you want to hear?” She was flustered. It felt like a few layers of material were the only things between her and some more really great sex. He drank, looking at her evenly. 

“It wasn’t like any sex I’ve had before.” Her voice dropped. She found she was whispering again. “I felt I was—like you were—your cock, I mean—was everywhere inside me—I couldn’t think, all I could do was feel—I lost all control. It was like nothing before. It was something new.” She realized his point. “It was definitely a first. I never came like that before.”

These thoughts were tilting her mind in a familiar direction, and she didn’t seem to be alone. Vincent’s fingers traced the embroidered lines on her dress as he spoke.

“More accurate to say you gave up control to me.” His fingers stroked the front of her neck. “Did you enjoy giving control over yourself, your body, to me?” He was watching his fingers move over her throat. His eyes were in shadow.

“Yes.” The dizzy feeling was returning. She felt unbalanced. “I did.” 

“I want you to continue.” His voice deepened, intensified. “Come to me, offer yourself to me. I will move past your barriers, draw new experiences from your body. As you did just now, I want you to give your secret face to me. All of the sensations your body is capable of, I will draw them out, create such longing in you.”

“Sensations? You mean pleasure, right?” She arched forward as his hand moved down the exposed valley between her breasts.

“Not always. There are many definitions of pleasure, Elise. Education is a complex road. I will need your obedience, and if you fail at times, you will need to be corrected. You should not seek to avoid pain, Elise. It is part of life. All greatness requires suffering to achieve.”

 _I never said I wanted to be great_ , she thought. 

“But whatever the name, happiness, sorrow, pleasure, pain, it all must be savored, or endured.” He drained his glass, set it on the table behind her. Now both of his hands cupped her shoulders, moved up her neck. He touched her ears. “I should have adorned these tonight,” he said.

She realized she was holding on to his lapels. She brushed her hands over the fabric of his jacket, his waistcoat, not thinking about the intimacy of the gesture.

“But what about, I don’t know, kindness? Isn’t it better to teach people with kindness, and not so much being strict?” 

“This conversation, including my offer, is itself a kindness.” 

“Can’t we do the fucking and kindness, but without the obedience and correcting?”

“No. I neither need nor want some casual affair, Elise. But I was…moved…by our connection, and am willing to continue that connection, and take you further, but this will require your surrender. I want you to accept this. Submit to these conditions.”

“So, you want me to come to you, for sex, but I have to do whatever you tell me too, and if I disobey I’ll be corrected, and the only thing I get to say is whether I agree or not.”

“An apt summation,” he said. “Stand up please. I want to see my crest.” 

She backed off of him and stood. 

“And what do I get out of this?” 

He leaned forward in his chair, lifted the hem of her skirt and handed it to her. “Hold this.” He admired the lace panel covering her sex. He held her hips and turned her one way and the other, watching the low light gleam off the embroidered Balthuman sigil. 

“What did you ‘get out of it’ the day you first came to me?” he said. “What are you ‘getting’ out of tonight?”

Elise had thought about that since she’d left his office that day. _Moved_ , she thought. _That’s a good way to put it. He sure did move me._ For a week she had touched herself under the covers, reliving that afternoon, coming again and again at the memory of his touch. _And you’ve been peeking at his crotch since you got here for god’s sake. Yes, girl, it’s still in there._

She reflected. _What_ do _I get out of this? Out of him?_

Elise had moved from her small town to Narin City to attend its most prestigious university. After graduation she had stayed, for friendship, for work. But now she felt as though she were in a holding pattern. Satisfied with her job. It was good honest work, but hardly challenging. Satisfied with her tidy one bedroom apartment in a secure neighborhood near Wenonah Station. Dated some, but mainly love was a spectator sport, following the colorful escapades of her more dramatic friends. Life not going up or down, just quiet, inert. Like her tea after she finished stirring it, the turning water slowing and slowing, hypnotic, until the surface was perfectly still.

Vincent had picked up that cup and drained it in a moment. 

_He’s so...overwhelming._

He was tracing the cords around her hips with his fingers. He turned her away from him, ran his fingers over the black lines until they disappeared into the crack of her exposed ass. 

_Maybe I want to be overwhelmed._

He stroked her ass, and she shivered. He turned her to face him again. 

“Okay,” she said. “I accept.” 

He glanced up. “Do you?” 

She looked down at him, sitting in front of her, looking as if he didn’t quite believe his ears. Desire fired in her. She stepped her legs apart, opening to him. 

“Yes. What did you say before? Everything is yours? I agree.” She took a deep breath, smiled. “So take it.” 

A deep pleasure appeared in his eyes, in the curve of his smile. His fingers touched his crest, explored the panel beneath, still soaked from her orgasm. She could smell her sex scent but knowing he craved it, she felt bold, not embarrassed. Slowly and deliberately, he pulled the thong down to just above her knees, and nudged her legs apart again. She opened for him as wide as the thong would allow. He touched the smooth skin where she had waxed her mons, and she wondered if the outline of his crest had been impressed there. He explored her with a careful touch, began to slowly stroke and finger her. 

Elise leaned back against the edge of the table, enjoying the feeling of his skilled fingers preparing her for his cock. She felt docile in his hands, malleable. She was angling her knees further apart when there was a knock at the door. Louder than Tadashi, louder than the sommelier or the waiters.

“Boss,” a man’s voice said sharply. “Sorry to interrupt your meal, but we have a problem.”

Vincent looked at her, standing in those sparkling heels, holding the front of her skirt up, her panties around her knees. She looked back at him, sprawling in his chair, his hand in her sex. She read the dark challenge in his eyes. 

“Come,” he called to the man at the door.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***CONTENT WARNING***
> 
> This chapter contains a scene that some readers may find disturbing. Please read at your own discretion.

THIRTEEN

Elise inhaled sharply. About to drop her skirt, Vincent stopped her with a look. 

“No.” His voice like cold iron. “Don’t move.”

The door opened.

The man who entered stood behind Elise on her right side. She did not look at him, but shut her eyes and tried to pretend she was not here. That she was not here, the man was not here, and that the devil himself wasn’t sitting in front of her with his hand in her pussy. 

She heard the man enter and stop short. Imagined him taking her in. Her hair draping in the soft light, her bare back, her legs parted, bound by the thin cords of the black thong. The back of her skirt thankfully covered her ass, but then she recalled shapes could be seen through the fabric. She ground her teeth together and looked desperately at Vincent. 

He smiled at her, a cool smile. He kept on running his index finger through her folds. 

Completely at ease, he looked to the other man. “Yes, Martin, what is it?”

Whoever Martin was, he had quickly recovered. “The matter you asked me to keep an eye on, with the club. The, ah, gentleman has been taken into custody.” 

“So?” Without turning from Martin, Vincent slid his finger inside her. She tried not to shudder and failed. “Manage it,” he said to the unseen man. 

“But, Master Balthuman,” the man hesitated. Vincent ground the heel of his hand against her clit, moved his finger in and out of her. 

Elise felt a single tear escape her eye. For some reason the warm light looked so handsome in Vincent’s hair. It colored him like a lion, not silver, but golden and lazily powerful. What did she look like right now, in this gentle light? She squeezed her eyes shut. The tear streaked down her face, but she didn’t move to wipe it. She wondered if the light would turn her tear golden too.

_ What a slut I am _ , she thought, shame plunging through her like a knife.

“Speak plainly, man,” Vincent said, still fucking her casually with his finger. His grip on her pussy was firm, holding her in place. If he let go she thought she might fall. 

“Our people do not have access, Master Balthuman. It gives the impression that they have been identified.” 

“Ah.” She felt Vincent turn back to her. His finger plunged into her deeply and stayed there. His other hand touched her cheek, brushed her tear away.

_ You bastard _ , she thought. _ I hate you. _

“They are not truly our people, Martin. Discard them and find other cats’ paws. There is always a steady supply of their kind. But I do want access. Find it for me.” 

“Yes, Master Balthuman. Sorry for interrupting your evening.”

“You did the right thing, Martin. Good night.” 

The door closed, and he slowly withdrew his hand. Elise sucked in air, not realizing she had been holding her breath. She jerked down her skirt and pulled up the thong, backing away from him. With each gasping breath, the tears she had held back spilled over. 

“How could you?” she cried. 

Vincent stood. He brought his hand to his face, inhaled, then drew his index finger across his mouth, sucking her liquids off it. 

She cried harder, wishing she could cover herself completely. She looked around her wildly, but there was no fabric in the room larger than the cloth napkins. 

He took a step toward her and she backed away. She bumped into the shelf with wine bottles and whirled around, covering her face with her hands. She struggled to calm her breathing.

“How could you show my pussy to that man?” she said through her hard gasps. 

“I did not show your pussy to Martin,” he said. 

“He saw what we were doing!” her voice ripped through her. 

“I showed your surrender to Martin.” 

He approached from behind, reached to either side of her and gripped the shelf. She was caged by his body, and drew herself down, smaller, so he wouldn’t touch her. 

“Did you not just agree to obey me? That your body is mine to do with as I wish? I was impressed, Elise. Your obedience was flawless.” 

“I don’t want that! I don’t want you to show what we do to whoever walks in! That should be private!” She whirled, found her face almost touching his. “PRIVATE!” she shouted. 

He looked mesmerized. “Such spirit,” he murmured. “Lovely.”

  
  



	14. Chapter 14

FOURTEEN

“How could you?” she repeated. She wiped her tears, her rage melting into a forlorn betrayal. All she wanted now was her sweater. 

“I need my things,” she said. 

Vincent straightened, pulled out his phone and sent a quick text. 

“Tadashi will bring them,” he said.

“Why? Why did you let him see us?” she asked. “Was that part of your ‘education’?”

“Yes,” he said. 

Anger exploded in her. “What lesson was that? That I mean nothing? That my tears mean nothing?” Her hands balled into fists, her face twisted. “That you really think I’m your inferior?” 

She stopped, panting with fury. 

“I felt ashamed! You made me feel ashamed! If you’re pretending I’m yours then you should protect me! Not—not expose me!”

He stepped closer. “Pretending? Who is pretending?”

“This! This—this game, or whatever you think it is! Fucking and—and rules!”

He was quiet, breathing quickly, his eyes boring into her. 

She tried again. “I said yes. I trusted you! And not one minute into it you were cruel!”

“Elise.” Vincent’s voice pulsed with anger. “We are not pretending in this room. In this room, between us, there is only reality. Those fools out there,” he pointed in the direction of the dining room, “with their flowers and rings, _they_ are pretending. Pretending they are equal, pretending they are fair, pretending the other is more important than themselves. They are all _liars_.” 

He steadied himself. “I want no such lies with you. The lesson of this evening is this. When you enter my domain you are mine to do with as I please. I will find your limits and move beyond them. I may indulge you from time to time, but my judgment is supreme. That is reality. I will accept nothing less."

He stepped closer again. At the base of his neck she saw a vein pulse. “There is only one other question that matters tonight. In the corners of your mind, your most secret place, did you long for me? For my hands? Even in your moment of deepest anguish, did you desire me?” 

The memory flooded her. _A lion, golden, lazy, powerful._ She shut her eyes. _Don’t let him see._

He stepped closer. “Do you still long to be under my gaze?

_Shit._

Elise kept her head down, her guts lurched. 

_Shit._

She didn't move away when his hand reached for her breast. She trembled as he gently traced her erect nipple under the shimmering embroidered lines. 

“I see your body’s answer, but I want to hear the words. Open your mouth and tell me.” 

He touched her jaw, but she jerked away from him. She did not look up.

“Tell me you still long for me,” he repeated. “Or, tell me you do not, so I can see what you look like when you lie.”

Her eyes refilled with tears. She shook her head. She would not say it out loud, hear her humiliation in her own voice. She clung fiercely to the tatters of her pride. 

“I changed my mind. I don’t want to let you do whatever you want to me. I can’t trust you.” 

Vincent stepped back. She saw his erection under the rich material of his pants.

“Go, Elise. Tadashi is outside.” 

His words stung. Of course she wanted to go, it was past time to go, but she had never felt so divided. With one breath, Elise wanted nothing more than to collect her sweater, wrap it around herself and leave him behind, but in the next breath, leaving felt like desolation.

He turned away from her, walked to the table. “You want to pretend. You refuse to accept reality. I will tell you again. For you to remain in my life, in my bed, I require absolute obedience. I also require your submission to my discipline if you disobey. Finally, I require your acceptance of these terms. The punishment for rejecting my terms is that you may not sit at my feet, you may not wrap your pretty little fingers around my cock, and I will not…educate you.” 

He poured himself another drink. “If you do not accept this, then you should go. Now.”

Elise heard the note of panic in her raised voice. 

“But that’s not reasonable at all! What about what I want, or what I feel? What if you go too far, or I disagree with what you’re doing, like tonight? What if you hurt me? Why should you have total control? What if I want you to stop? What about, I don’t know, a—a safe word?”

He turned in an instant, so fast, suddenly looming over her. 

“Brave little girl. I am Vincent Balthuman. I _will_ go too far, I _will_ hurt you. If you disagree with me I will laugh. Whatever you _want_ , you will subject your desires to my own.” He leaned forward, his eyes intense with emotion. “ _Willingly_. Little girl, if I want you over my knee there you will go. If I want my cock in your ass you will present yourself for me. So long as you wear my crest you will be mine.” He gestured to the appointments in the room. “Just as much as this painting or this vase.” He drew a long breath. 

“Here you are, on my property, surrounded by my men, in a world I alone created, with the piquant juices of your pussy on my hand. Tell me.” He laughed, a low, dark chuckle. 

“Which part of this evening did you think was ‘safe’?”

  
  



	15. Chapter 15

FIFTEEN

She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. He picked up his glass, drank, watched her. When she said nothing, but didn’t leave, he continued. 

“I will give you one more opportunity. Tell yourself first, then tell me, is this what you want?”

_No. I don’t. Sure I want to feel alive, and sexy, and dangerous, and beautiful. But I don’t want to step off a mile high cliff with nothing at all to catch me._

She looked at him. His haughty stare, the tightness around his mouth. Gazing down at her in his layered suit, holding his fancy drink. Wanting her. 

She felt the pull.

_Are you crazy girl? Fucking run. You can’t give this man total control over you. He’s untrustworthy. Look what he just did to you! What has every grandma, every auntie, every everyone you’ve ever known ever told you? This is the guy they warned you about your whole life. Get the fuck out of Dodge. Now._

Her hands shook as she adjusted the dress to cover as much of her as possible. He watched her closely, held himself under tight control. 

“Right,” she muttered without looking at him. “I’m going.”

Before the door she hesitated, looking back at him. His expression was stony. She turned away.

“Goodbye, then.”

His voice stopped her, steel in his tone. “Do not contact me again until you have accepted my terms. You understand now what I am asking of you, what I am offering you. I will have no negotiation, no questions. And, when you accept, if I decide to go forward with you, there will be consequences for your refusal this evening.”

She opened the door, then looked back at him. She made sure her voice was clear. 

“No, sir. I mean, Mr. Balthuman. This is goodbye.”

He regarded her steadily. In the mirror behind him she saw herself once more. Silhouetted in the streaming light from the room beyond, her legs magically long, balanced on the highest heels she’d ever worn. The sheer scraps of fabric around her body did nothing to conceal the long edges of her flesh. The iridescent powder on the surface of her skin looked like heat flickering off her body. She did not look weak or torn, she looked incandescent. 

“Lovely Elise. So beautiful, so sensual. You are truly worthy of me. Although you may not know it yet, your hunger is so much stronger than your fear.”

Mechanically, she honored him with a quick, polite bow of goodbye. Her mind empty, she walked out of the private room, out of his restaurant, out of the lobby of his building. 

Tadashi was waiting outside of the restaurant and handed her her long sweater. She pulled it on. She started to ask him for her phone so she could summon a ride but stopped when she saw Vincent’s driver at the curb. Tadashi silently gave her the bundle of her things and bowed as the driver opened the door for her.

On the way home her tears started to fall. 

_Nervous tension, girl, let it out._

She was almost home when she realized she still wore his crest over her sex. 

_I can courier them back tomorrow, with the dress and shoes._ She reddened. _After I wash them. Jesus._

She climbed the two flights of steps to her apartment, showered, and changed into sweatpants and a loose, long sleeved shirt. Her most comfortable, concealing clothes. She lay on her bed in the dark, replaying her life since that first fateful call. 

_Damn it._

She pulled out her phone and saw a text from her boss. 

_How’d everything go? Is the buyer happy with his purchase?_

She laughed suddenly at the absurdity of everything. What could she text back? _“Nope, and he let some guy see him fingering me. Worst client meeting ever.”_

She snorted, and sent her boss a quick reply. _It went fine. See you tomorrow._

She remembered her helpless feeling, her humiliation.

_Damn it. That wasn’t fine. I did the right thing, saying no to that. Who in their right mind would say yes to that?_

She didn’t know how much time had passed. She picked up her phone, reread Vincent’s messages. 

_He’s a bastard._ She sighed. _I need to let this go. Let him go. Go back to your peaceful, normal life and forget all of this._

She looked at his contact on the screen. 

_V.B._

Below their messages was the empty text input bar, waiting. She tapped it and the keyboard appeared. 

_He said don’t contact him. That is, until you’re ready to let him have his way, no questions asked._

She closed the message app, put the phone down, closed her eyes. After a moment she lifted it again. 

_What would I even say?_

She typed. Then read her message. _Thank you…_

Groaning, Elise erased her message. _No. No thank you’s, no I’m sorry’s, no calling him sir._

She rolled over in the small pool of light from her screen, his unanswered questions repeating in her mind. The darkness all around held familiar shadows. Her cluttered desk. Her laundry basket, an overflowing bookcase. Two plants that needed watering. Her domain. 

_If you have to tell him anything, just tell him the truth._

She typed again, pressed send. 

_I can’t give you what you want._

Her fingers moved, pressed send before she could reconsider. In the scant glow of the screen, she read her message as the status changed from _delivered_ to _seen_. 

_You ask too much._

There was no reply.


	16. EPILOGUE, PART 1 of 2

EPILOGUE, Part 1 of 2

  
  


The gentle outlines of the mountains lay before her, dark cascading lines like waves on the ocean. Standing on the step outside her tiny cabin, as far as Elise could see, their fluttered edges faded into the morning mist as if falling into dream. These were not the springing bamboo forests of the south, or the thin hopeful forests that return to cover the logger’s cuts. These were the old woods of Narin, the generations of trees that held the secrets of centuries, of bandits and battles and scarred tigers hunted to the ground. 

The old woods’ ghosts were quiet today, though, as Elise walked through the grounds of the retreat center to breakfast. The dirt path was firm and even, scattered with fallen leaves. She imagined her sandals covering the prints of the many people who had walked this path before her. Seeking wisdom, or peace, or some hidden goal that only they knew, they had made her passage smooth. 

She smiled at herself—so philosophical—but perhaps that’s what happened when you keep silent for a few days. As she neared the breakfast hall, other participants joined her on the path. They didn’t talk or look at her, nor she at them. Any greeting was given simply by making room for the other traveler, a gift of respectful distance. 

It felt strange to be here, in the mountains. The air itself felt so pure, untouched by the strings and tendrils of the city, the complexity of all the people there. Here everything seemed simpler. Elise took a deep breath, as deep as she could, the clear air penetrating to the furthest reaches of her lungs. She felt happy just to be walking to a meal in the fresh quiet, the stillness. Her thoughts turned gratefully to Zara, the best friend ever.

****************

Only a week ago they had met at Zara’s number one cafe in Narin City. It had house-roasted beans, a heartbreakingly good creme brulee cappuccino, a perfect outdoor patio, and two starry eyed baristas willing to decorate her drinks with a foam portrait of any animal she asked for. Elise had the creme brulee while Zara drank a chilled latte with a bunny artfully drawn into her brown dalgona foam. 

Elise turned her face to the sky, its warmth pouring over her. At this time of day, Zara’s favorite spot was splashed in brilliant sunshine. But this particular table was too close to the sidewalk for Zara’s tastes. The cafe was close to Narin’s biggest tourist attractions, and every now and then a curious visitor would try to approach Zara or surreptitiously photograph her effortless beauty. Zara had the dark skin and eyes of her Iranian grandmothers, along with the height and cheekbones of an elite model. Today she sprawled in her chair, enjoying her coffee, her long legs outlined by cuffed skinny jeans over her usual high heels. A thin leather belt neatly cinched a cream colored knit tunic around her lithe waist. She licked the foam off her lips, and flicked back the bottom edge of her gray chiffon hijab just before it fell into her drink. 

A tourist had slowed down by the low cafe wall, pretending to peer at the menu hanging inside while sneaking looks at Elise’s friend. Zara huffed and put her cup down. 

“No, you can’t take a picture. Now, beat it.”

As the red-faced tourist slunk off, Zara turned to Elise, putting both hands on the filigreed metal table top. 

“Okay, spill.”

Elise started to protest, but Zara wasn’t having any of it. 

“You have been moping for two weeks straight. It’s not like you. I am clearly the best friend you have, so spill.”

Elise sipped her cappuccino to delay answering. “I can’t talk about it.” 

After that night, Elise had very thoroughly researched Vincent Balthuman. A chill had settled in her stomach as she tried to reconcile the deadly man half-hidden in the news articles with the man she had straddled and clung to, with the man who had made her cry. 

“I mean, I’d like to talk about it, I wish I could talk to you about it, I just don’t feel comfortable right now. I’m sorry, Zara.” Elise gave her friend what she hoped was a conciliatory look. 

Zara set her mouth in a determined line. “Okay, then, Dr. Zara will have to diagnose you.” 

She picked up Elise’s hand, examined her palm, felt her pulse, then touched her jaw and moved Elise’s face from side to side. 

“It’s a boy, no—wait, it’s a man.” Elise’s mortified expression told her everything. “Ding, ding, ding! Girl, you need a better poker face.” Zara leaned back. “This face is way too expressive. But okay, a man.” She tapped her extravagant lips with a manicured fingertip. “But, you skipped the mooning around part and have gone straight to moping. So…a quickie. A one-shot.” 

Elise looked to one side, abashed.

“Ding, ding, ding!” Zara exclaimed. “It was clearly good sex, for him to get his hooks in you like this, so let’s see…how good?” 

Elise frowned, opened her mouth. 

“No! I don’t need a verbal, just look into Dr. Zara’s eyes, my friend. I will judge the skill level through your overly communicative face. Okay, let’s start low. Tinder fail? Should’ve swiped left?”

Elise snorted.

“Rusty dusty office cubicle guy?”

Elise raised an eyebrow. “Really?” 

“I said we were starting low. Knows how to find a clit?”

Elise rolled her eyes. 

“Knows how to work a clit?” 

Elise stared intently at her coffee.

“Now we’re getting somewhere. Olympic decathlon level? Meaning, knows at least ten different ways to get you off.” 

Elise stared even more intently at her coffee.

“Interesting. Hmm…goes so hard you walk funny for a couple of days?” 

She leaned back in her chair and stretched uncomfortably. 

“Damn, girl. Okay. Ultimate, life-changing, runs the game sex.”

The warm, secluded room attached to Vincent’s office flooded her mind. Her hands were bound, stretched above her, she was drenched in sweat, her chest heaving, explosive shudders of pleasure rocking her body, her ankles pressed together behind his hips. His eyes were inches away from hers, that burning gaze holding her more firmly than the leather around her wrists. Elise looked straight into Zara’s eyes and blinked. “Something like that.”

Zara looked mournfully at her. “Oh hon, I’m sorry. No wonder you’ve been moody and miserable. But I know what will fix you up! In honor of your recent misery, I got you a present! Consider it an early birthday present.” 

“My birthday is eight months away,” Elise said dryly.

“But your misery is right now,” Zara said, picking up her phone. “I’m texting it to you.” 

Elise looked at her phone. The link displayed an announcement for a five day silent retreat at a Center for Buddhist Studies in the mountains south of Narin City. 

“All expenses paid—you’re welcome,” Zara said, magnanimously. “Oh, okay, it’s free, I just signed you up for it. But I will pay for the train there and back.” 

“Silent retreat?”

“Sorry, girl, the talking one was full.” 

Elise waited for the punchline. 

“Haha, just kidding, there is no talking one. But what’s the difference? You haven’t been talking to anybody anyway.”

The images of green mountains and wooden buildings looked inviting. It would be nice to get away. Elise scrolled through the description. “What’s it about?”

“I’ve been there before. It’s peaceful, you do walking meditation, sitting meditation, they feed you, there’s no phones, no one bothers you. The silence means no small talk, no worrying about any of that. You can be alone, while you’re not alone. I really liked it. And I learned some about how my mind works. I think you’ll love it.” 

“It’s really free?” Elise said.

“They take donations, if you feel like doing that, but yes, it’s free. The guy I talked to said there was going to be a visiting monk from Tibet, doing art, a painting. I know you love that stuff. It felt like perfect timing, to be honest.” Zara put her cup down. “You know I hate it when you’re sad. Remember that jerk from the hang gliding club in freshman year? Ugh.” She tipped her face back, closing her eyes in the sunshine. 

“Well, thanks, Zara. It will be good for me to get out of here for a bit. I’m going to do it.”

Zara raised her head and smiled at Elise with enough charisma to dazzle a busload of tourists. “I knew you would.” 

  
  


****************

At the retreat center, a kindly volunteer checked her in, and secured her valuables and electronics for her. They reviewed the rules of the retreat center together, and went through the paperwork. Then he walked with her, showing her the offices and meditation hall, dining room, and a high open mountain field with a simple track for walking meditation. The volunteer pointed out a lodge and a low building where the monks slept, a small farm where they grew food for the kitchens, and a bath house built over a small hot spring. He described that a visiting monk and his apprentices were constructing a sand mandala in the lodge. The sand painting would be complete on the fourth day of the retreat, when the vow of silence lifted, and would be destroyed on the fifth and final day. Curiosity filled Elise, but she let the volunteer continue. He explained the schedule, posted on a sign board outside of the dining hall, and told her that silence would begin today, after the evening meal. She asked about the mandala. 

“Ah! Yes, we are very fortunate. There are only about thirty masters who can carry this art forward. They are constructing a design of the Buddha of Compassion, I believe. So beautiful! Each design represents the cosmos, the entire universe. You are welcome to observe, of course, but questions will have to wait until silence lifts on the fourth day.”

He walked her to a rustic cabin among a cluster of similar cabins, little more than a small sturdy tent on a platform, reinforced with wood. Even though it was early summer, the tall, arching trees scattered among the cabins were in bloom. Within the dark green foliage, little clumps of white flowers gave off a powerful fragrance. They stepped through the dappled light into the cabin. It was simple, but the low, cot-like bed looked comfortable, and Elise liked the feeling of fresh air that flowed through the little room. It felt good. Austere, but solid and uncomplicated. She thanked him, and he left her to settle in. 

She lay on the bed and closed her eyes. The air smelled of grass, yesterday’s rain soaking the earth, the old wooden planks of the platform. The heady scent of the flowers summoned numberless rivers of bees, flowing overhead between the branches. Their buzzing lulled her, the swells and eddies of sound reminded Elise of the endless susurration of the ocean. Every now and then the breeze brushed some minutiae from the tree, which hit the roof of her cabin with a tiny thump.

 _So peaceful_ , Elise thought. She couldn’t remember the last time the world had been this quiet, and the silence hadn’t even started. 

****************

The first meditation was that evening after supper. The instructors explained the purpose of their silence—silence of body, speech, and mind—and how it would work. Elise took the vow along with the other participants. Only the instructors spoke now, and their voices were low and calming. Elise followed their direction, sitting with her back straight, focusing on her breath moving in and out, the tiny sensations of moving air on the skin below her nose, letting thoughts come and go, trying not to resist them. 

_Empty your mind_ , she urged herself. 

It was not easy. She tried to keep her attention purely on her breath moving in and out, but between the instructor’s soft voice, the still bodies around her, the utter quiet, Elise found her torso tipping sideways as she started to doze off. She sharply corrected herself, and focused on the sensations of her breath. Soon she was thinking of work, and her issues with a supplier, until she caught herself, and pulled her attention back. 

“Alert. Ever vigilant,” the instructor murmured. “Every breath in, every breath out. Aware.” 

_Ugh_ . Elise struggled not to think of anything, but soon the face of her nephew appeared. His birthday was coming up and she hadn’t spoken to him in how long? When was the last time she’d visited her older brother and his wife? What gift should she get? She struggled to pull her attention back to the warm hall. _Breath. Breath in. Breath out._ Her fists clenched, and she forced her hands to relax, resting on her knees. She relaxed her forehead, her jaw. Breath, only breath. In and out.

The muscles around her eyes relaxed, and she felt the sensation of breath on the skin of her neck, but the breath wasn’t hers. She sighed. Emptying her mind of Vincent Balthuman was no small task. Even though she had only seen him twice, both times she had been swept away. She had done all of the right things to put him in the past, to distract herself, detach herself. She had stayed busy, hung out with her friends. She had done self-care, a haircut, massage, bought a few outfits. She had even journaled. But still he lingered. At night, as she lay in the dark, his voice sounded in her ears. His confident prediction haunted her. 

_“When you accept, I shall consider it.”_

_Damn him._ In her mind, he stood in that dining room looking at her, his face tightly composed. _Not “if” I accept. “When” I accept._

Elise realized the meditation session had ended. Everyone around her was getting up. She picked up her cushion and returned it with the others.

_I would have to be an absolute fool to give anyone control over me like that. Not happening._

The air was still warm as she clumsily found her cabin in the dark. Pausing at the step below her little cabin’s platform, she reminded herself to bring her flashlight to tomorrow night’s meditation.

She looked up. There were so many stars. Surely this was the view astronomers saw in their telescopes. The stars looked so close. She could even see the separate colors, red or orange, some faintly blue. She turned and sat on the step, leaning back. The bees were gone, and the only sound in the night was the air itself, moving the leaves, moving around the edges of her cabin, moving through her hair. 

_What is this feeling?_ she thought. It rolled through her, rising up from the dark ground through her feet into her pelvis, moving down from the strangely bright stars, into the top of her head, into her throat, her wide open chest. Earthy darkness and primordial starlight mixed and mingled in her body. 

_It’s the feeling of balance_ , she realized.

She stayed a while longer, then went into her cabin to sleep. 

****************

After the morning “sit,” as the teachers called it, Elise roamed the grounds. The sky was overcast and this high in the mountains there was a chill in the air, even in this warm season. She turned toward the lodge.

A meeting area off of the main lobby had been cleared for the visiting monks to build their sand painting. She stood in the entrance uncertainly, until a younger monk waved her in with a smile, nodding his head. 

Whatever conference table had dominated the room had been removed, and several smaller tables pushed to the side. One table was covered with an elaborate altar, very colorful, with garlands of flowers, metal bells, golden cloths, and intricate metal pieces Elise didn’t recognize. A large decorated portrait of the Dalai Lama dominated the altar. On the other wall a smaller table was laden with many small silver bowls filled with a cheerful rainbow of brightly colored sand. In the gaps between the tables, simple chairs and a few benches lined the edges of the room. The slate floor had been swept clear and marked with precise lines of what looked like chalk in an intricate, perfectly symmetrical pattern.

Six monks worked quietly in the room in their red and golden robes. One, very elderly, was sitting on a chair by the altar, holding up his hands and chanting or praying. His voice, low and rhythmic, created a soft undercurrent of sound. Four monks crouched on the floor, each laying sand down on the pattern. The young monk who had smiled at Elise stood at the table with the bowls, adding sand to a long thin metal stick. Several other retreat participants stood or sat around the room, watching the monks work. 

Elise read the sign just inside the room. “We welcome Geshe Lobsang Nyingpo to the Angulimala Monastery’s Center for Buddhist Studies. Geshe Lobsang and his monks are creating the mandala of Avalokitesvara, the Bodhisattva of Great Compassion. Please feel free to observe or meditate with us.”

She went to an empty bench and sat. There was a lot to see, but what drew her eye first was the image itself. Even though less than half of the chalk design was filled, the unfinished painting was both serene and stunning. In the center was a circle containing a flower, surrounded by a larger circle divided into eight sections. Four of those contained their own small pictures. She didn’t understand the symbols, but they looked related to each other. This circle was contained in a perfect square with a t-shape protruding from each side. The monks were working on the dazzling and labyrinthine border around this square. 

They each had a long thin metal stick, which Elise realized were funnels. The young monk had just poured sand into one of these sticks and brought it to another monk on the floor. The four monks building the painting scraped thin metal rods back and forth on the funnels, vibrating them and causing the bright sand to flow out in tiny streams. 

The low whirring sound of the rods scraping over the thin funnels reminded Elise of the bees over her tent, and she relaxed into the gentle sound. Red, pink. Green, yellow. Black, blue, orange. White. The young monk had the next color prepared before the monks on the floor needed it. The tiny streams of color trickled in endless, ever growing patterns. Turning, winding, spiraling in on themselves, but balanced, always balanced. Elise relaxed, tucked her feet under her on the bench. It was peaceful watching something grow. Something so beautiful, relentlessly symmetrical. Something very close to perfect. The monks’ thin rods traced tiny furrows in the colors, then they filled those furrows with other colors. 

Their total concentration was catching. Elise’s breathing steadied. She settled on her sit bones, her spine straight but not stiff. The slight motion of the funnels, the low sound of the scraping buzz, the older monk’s chanting, the occasional rustle of clothing or a sandal on the floor. Time flowed around her without touching her. She didn’t understand the meaning of the painting, but she liked the bright colors, the elaborate, interlaced image that was unfurling on the floor. 

_Like icing the most spiritual cupcake ever_ , Elise thought.

It was almost supper time when she realized she’d missed the afternoon “sit.”

  
  


****************

But by the end of the evening session, Elise was ready to give up. Sitting for so long was causing pain to shoot through her ass and lower back, and concentrating on her inner world felt like stepping into a typhoon. The meditation hall was overly warm, and her thoughts, rather than being empty and peaceful, were consumed with a fantasy of choking Zara. Why would anyone think sitting still was the best way to find peace? She felt lost without her phone, and her mind was not settling down, it was piling on. 

_I cannot take three more days of this._

The instructors said that the techniques were to help them settle their minds, so they could see things clearly. See things and accept them as they really are. “Not how we want them to be,” they said gently. 

This did not help Elise when Vincent’s hands appeared in her imagination, his thick, perfectly styled hair, his lips lifting in a cruel smirk. 

_One hundred percent sure I do not want to see him as he really is._

But whenever she shifted to find a more comfortable position, pled with her mind to stop thinking, it didn’t matter. So long as she was trapped in that hall, motionless on the thick meditation cushion, he appeared. There he was the first time they met, sitting in front of her in his office. “ _Closer_ ,” he said and she obeyed. He was in his boardroom, running his hands intimately over her body. She didn’t resist, she exulted in his touch. _“Every part of you is mine.”_ He stood in the private dining room, his smile taunting her. _“Tell me.”_ Her breath stopped. Everything in her wanted to run, to flee these thoughts of him. _“Did you long for me?”_ It was torture to hold herself still.

_Breathe._

Elise was desperate for the session to end. When the little bell rang, she was the first one out the door into the cool night air. Again she had forgotten to bring a flashlight. She recklessly plunged in the dark to her tent. 

His voice followed her, demanding. _“Tell me…”_

 _Stop thinking about him!_ She laughed roughly. _I left him because he didn’t listen to me but even I don’t listen to me._

An uneven spot on the path caught her sandal. With a shocked cry, she pitched sharply to her hands and knees in the dirt. Probably scraped, but the pain in her knees was not the reason she felt tears gathering. 

She felt a footfall beside her, and looked up to see the young monk. 

The monks were not under any prohibition against speaking, but he did not address her. He made a gesture of helping, and lightly touched her elbow to assist her. 

Once on her feet, she nodded her thanks, then remembered, _silence of body too, not just speech._ She looked away. From within his robes the young monk pulled a phone, and turned on the flashlight. He walked ahead of her, lighting the path to the cabins. He bowed to her at the tent, still smiling, then turned back. Elise ducked inside. 

She slipped off her shoes and ran her hands through her hair. Sighing, she lay on her stomach on the small bed and gave in to her thoughts. Vincent’s presence invaded her mind. Her body responded at once, purring with relief, relaxing. She abandoned the battle to push him out of her mind. 

_Okay, work through this,_ she thought. She rested her head on her folded arms. _Make a mental list. Things that are true._

The clouds had moved off. The leaves made faint dappled shadows on the fabric walls of her cabin. Elise closed her eyes. She was back in the private dining room. That night was never far from her mind, the memory inescapable. She felt herself grinding on his lap. Saw him restraining himself. Although she could feel his arousal, he had held perfectly still under her, carefully watching her lose herself on him. 

Yearning for him, physical, tangible, sharp as a blade, arced through her. She opened her eyes, deliberately calmed her breath. 

_Number_ _one, yes I still want him._

She squeezed her eyes shut at the shame of the next memory.

 _Number two._ _I’m still mad at him. Letting that guy in was complete bullshit._

She pictured how it could have gone. The knock came, and he helped her cover herself, sat her back on his leg, wrapped his arm around her, protective, comforting. Or, what if he had just told “Martin” to come back later? Would that have been so hard?

_No, he said that was a lesson to me, remember? And the lesson was, he gets to do whatever he wants, whether or not it’s what I want._

_Number three. He could care less if I’m mad at him. And, he’s untrustworthy and unpredictable._ She remembered the long timeline of newspaper articles about the Balthuman Organization and its CEO. _And he’s shady as fuck._

_Number four. The only way to satisfy number one, is to accept all the rest of it._

Elise rolled onto her back, feeling suddenly drained. The day had been so long, with so many challenges. 

_He said he would hurt me. He almost promised to hurt me. But what did he mean? Like, not being careful with my feelings? Or did he mean actually hurt me, more than his “corrections,” more than making me cry?_

She felt the burn from her scraped knees, the scratches on the heels of her palms. But before she could tend to her small, stinging wounds, she was asleep.

****************

Zara had apparently ditched her. Elise shrank into the dark corner of the nightclub. The thumping bass, the crowd, lights, flashing—this was not her scene at all. As she thought about texting Zara and getting a cab, a couple on the dance floor caught her eye. The woman was bold. She put her hand all over the man as he moved before her, twisting, grinding, displaying himself for her. Shamelessly sexual. 

Elise’s cheeks flushed red on the woman’s behalf. Her eyes ran over the dancer’s clothes. The thin straps loose on her bare shoulders, the glittering fabric moving like liquid down her body, pooling at her hips. The outline of the dancer’s breasts pressed against the fabric. She turned, whirled, arms outstretched. Her sleek skin shimmered under the lights. She saw the man watching her. His hands wanted to touch her, but he could do nothing to hold her as she spun and spun, her top sparking off light like a welder’s torch, glinting, spraying onlookers with her brilliance. 

Elise looked down at her own modest clothing. She shrank deeper into the shadows. She was nothing like the dancer. The dancer was like a celestial being, drawing all eyes to her holy beauty. 

_“Elise.”_

She felt him behind her, his voice at her ear, but she didn’t startle. Of course he was there with her.

_“Tell me…”_

Sweat slid down the dancer’s face, her man staring in open admiration. How could she feel safe under those bright lights, with her skin open to the world, stretched like a map to all her private feelings. How could that be possible?

“I’m not ready,” Elise said. 

The sound of her own voice woke her. She clapped her hand over her mouth, jerking upright in the small cabin, remembering too late where she was, and the promise of silence she had made. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue concludes in Chapter 17.


	17. EPILOGUE, PART 2 of 2

EPILOGUE, Part 2 of 2

After suffering through the morning sit, Elise was drawn again to the room where the monks continued to construct the mandala. She slipped inside and took a seat on the bench closest to the design. They had finished the elaborate border around the central square, and were pouring a bright green background in a ring around the central geometry.

 _That’s what it is_ , she thought. _Geometry_ . _Some kind of sacred geometry. Like a code._

One of the older apprentices, a burly fellow, was filling the funnels with colors for the other monks. The young monk was on the floor, cross-legged in his red robes with the elderly monk at his side. Both the older and the younger monk leaned forward with complete concentration, applying colors directly from the bowls by dribbling sand through their pinched fingers. Watching them, Elise felt like she was observing a familial relationship. The elder monk must be the teacher of all of the other monks, but the energy in the room felt more intimate than that. A sense of deep ease, trust. 

She looked again at the design. Where the green was complete, the monks were starting to set patterns into the background, vases and waving flags and clouds. Elise felt herself begin to float away again as the patterns bloomed across the floor. Without effort, her breathing slowed. Her eyes traveled slowly around the lines of the red lotus four times, looped over the eight petals of colors and symbols, not trying to understand them, just moving and moving. Her gaze flowed around and around their encircling ring. 

As she moved outward, the sudden straight lines and sharp corners of the square shocked her mind, as if she had suddenly stepped from nature into the world of men. Her eyes traveled five times around the T shapes, once for each solid line of color in the square’s border. She felt meek, her gaze twisting tight and sharp at each of the many ninety degree angles, obediently following the straight, undeviating commands of the pattern. 

Then the design loosened, and she fell with relief into the broad red strips with flowing shapes that now encouraged her eyes gently around each harsh corner. Decorative swirls and chevrons continued as she followed the outer border, the natural and the man-made coming together. Was it a plan? A building? Perhaps the central petals were a domed roof, and the rigid square began thick walls that protected the graceful dome with its lotus flower. The T shapes could be openings in the walls—gates?—and the multilayered structures outside each gate, could be buildings, or towers, tipped outward in cross section.

 _A mighty palace_ , Elise thought. _To hold a flower._

She looked up. Outside the door, some of her fellow retreat participants were passing on their way to the afternoon sit. She realized she had missed lunch.

****************

Early on the morning of the third day, Elise woke from a dream of her childhood. She left her cabin to go to the showers, holding her towel and bag of toiletries. The fog this morning was unnaturally thick, a fog out of a fairy tale. It was as though a kingdom of clouds had descended to earth. 

She stepped carefully through the monochrome infinity of white, wondering if this was what blindness felt like, only light instead of dark. She felt moisture collecting on her clothes and skin as she picked her way down the path. Tree trunks rose dark and straight out of the featureless glow, soundlessly approaching then passing her by, much like the multitudes of indifferent strangers on the city streets.

It startled her to superimpose the hard sidewalks of Narin City over this ethereal landscape. The retreat was halfway over, and her life among tall buildings had ebbed away from the shores of her mind, replaced by an immediate connection to the world around her, the forest, the sky, the ground under her feet. This impenetrable blanket of fog. Elise wondered if the silence, the daily conservation of her words and thoughts, had somehow heightened her senses. 

She reached the bathhouse and showered quickly. The door to the women’s side of the hot springs drew her eye. It was still early, and it would be hard going back up the path to the cabin if she left now. 

Feeling slightly self-indulgent, she slipped into the bathing area. The only one there this early, she eased herself into the steaming water with a small exclamation. It was _hot_. 

_Now this is how to empty my mind_ , she thought. She eased in up to her shoulders, tipping her head back to rest on the stone ledge. The heat penetrated every muscle. She felt her body loosening, sweat dripping from her hairline. 

Images from her dream drifted through her mind. She was back in Newalla. Little college town in the west full of trees and people, cafes and book stores. Her dad had come back from a symposium for professors, he brought her a book of piano music. She had just started to reach the pedals. Her big brother was there. He was playing video games. Her dad was proud of her, she always tried hard. His hand was on her shoulder. He was smiling across her at her mother, coming in the back door. The remembered feelings were like the water, they penetrated her all the way to her heart, warming and relaxing her.

The images drifted away. Elise rose from the pool and plunged her reddened skin into a cold tub at the other end of the room. Energy buzzed through her body as her blood adjusted to the sudden changes. After a few moments, shivering, she ran back to the hot pool. 

The heat felt so good. She tried to meditate, but instead of the slight movements of air across her skin, she concentrated on the sensations of water flowing, enveloping, pressing on her. But it was too hard. She couldn’t find the edge between her heated flesh and the heated water. She sighed, closed her eyes. Different images entered her mind. 

_What exactly happened that night?_

She remembered the feeling of shock as the man stopped behind her. A different shock from the plunge from hot to cold to hot. Today’s shock was on her surface, but that shock had curled around her heart. Choked her. She hadn’t been able to breathe. She remembered what Vincent had looked like. His hand on her most intimate place, his eyes challenging her. 

The other man had stopped behind her. She still didn’t know what he looked like. 

_And he doesn’t know what I look like._

True, he only saw her from the back, but what about the mirror? Could he have seen her in the mirror? She pictured the room. At that angle, the man would not have been able to see her face. Nor had he seen what she had exposed to Vincent, given to Vincent. He hadn’t seen her body.

_I showed him your surrender._

Vincent had not lifted his hand from her until the man left. 

Was it possible...he had _concealed_ her from his employee? Yes, the man had seen his boss with his hand between a woman’s legs, which she did not appreciate. At all. But he had not seen _her_. Vincent had created the illusion of exposure, more so than actual exposure. 

What difference did that make? He could still have waited until she covered herself, told the man to come back later. Avoided all shock to her. What “lesson” was this, really? Elise sank deeper into the water, frowning. If that’s right, is him playing mind games with me any better than what I thought he did? 

She shook her head, plunged entirely under the water, then jumped out to rinse and start her third day. 

****************

That evening, Elise walked slowly back from the meditation hall to her cabin. Once again she had forgotten her flashlight, but tonight her feet were steady, seeming to find their own way on the dark path. 

Earlier, she had gone to watch the monks. Today they built the edges of the mandala, first a ring of little arches, then a thick outer border that looked to her like billowing clouds, red, green, yellow, and blue. By now they were probably finished, the mandala complete. The quiet room where they labored had become a room of clarity for her. For some reason her mind settled more when she walked the high mountain paths, or soaked in the hot spring, or watched the industrious monks, than when she sat immobile in the meditation hall. 

But even that had changed. This evening there had been no pain. She felt comfortable sitting cross-legged for those long hours. She didn’t mind sitting still because she didn’t feel truly still. Her breath was moving, and with her breath, energy flowed in and out, up and down her spine. Everything in her was moving, everything around her was moving. She felt like she could stay still even longer if need be, balanced upon her cushion. 

She walked into the cloud of fragrance from the tall trees, almost at her cabin, feeling refreshed when she should have been tired. Elise stopped, breathing in deeply, tipping her face to the dark sky. After morning meditation tomorrow, the silence would lift, and there would be one more day before she went home. 

****************

Morning meditation ended. Released from their vow, the retreat participants started to greet each other. The sudden human chatter and laughter was much louder than the rolling buzz of the bees, or the soft hum of the monks’ rods against their metal funnels. It bothered Elise. Despite all the times in the last few days she had wished she could speak, she now discovered she did not want to engage in aimless small talk. She ducked out of the hall, knowing exactly who she wanted to talk to. 

Only three monks were in the mandala room. The mandala itself was complete, and was cordoned off for viewing. The small bowls and other tools had been put away. A small number of people stood around the room, contemplating the design. 

The young monk was chatting with a visitor, while another apprentice stood by the altar. The elderly monk was back in his tall chair, observing the visitors and smiling. Elise stood at the edge of the cordon, surveying the completed mandala. The colors and complexity of the whole pattern were breathtaking.

The young monk came up beside her. “Welcome,” he said, putting his hands together over his heart and nodding at her. His accent was soft and somehow musical. “You visited us several times this week.” He introduced himself as Rinchen Yonten.

Elise returned the gesture politely. “Yes,” she said, and introduced herself. “Thank you for helping me on the path that night.” 

He beamed at her. “Yes, yes. No problems.” He gestured to the mandala. “Do you have questions?” 

“Oh I had so many!” Elise looked at the sweep of bright colors. “I’ve forgotten most of them…but yes. What is this a picture of?”

“A difficult question,” said Rinchen thoughtfully. “All mandalas are a picture of the universe, all of creation. But it is more than that. It also shows the palace of this Buddha, the Buddha of compassion. Like a blueprint. This mandala encourages us to awaken our compassionate heart. Also it shows the way to enlightenment. There are many mysteries in the mandala.”

“I _knew_ it was a palace,” Elise said, staring at the design. 

Rinchen chuckled. Elise looked over the many tiny intricate strokes of color, turbulent yet somehow still. 

“Are those clouds?” she pointed at the border. 

“Flames,” Rinchen said. “Of wisdom.” 

“Oh.” Elise turned to him. “I have another question. The elder monk is your teacher, right? Are you related?”

“Geshe Lobsang is my master,” Rinchen said, still smiling. “I am his disciple. A little different than teacher and student. All of his disciples become like relatives, family. For the whole life.” He smiled at the elderly monk, who waved at him amiably. “But we are not related by blood.”

Elise looked troubled. “I don’t care for that word—master.”

Rinchen nodded slowly. “In English language it is a slippery word. It can mean ugly things.”

Elise turned back to him. “What does it mean in your language?”

He studied the mandala, blinking a few times. “A master teaches, but is more than a teacher. A master must be disciplined and compassionate. At peace with themselves. It is very important to choose wisely and not accept a master blindly.” 

Elise waited. He had the look of a man who was looking for words. 

“A master is the ship that takes you across a vast river. The one who teaches and enforces the laws. Your companion, or protector, as you travel through a dangerous place.” 

As if he heard them talking about him, the elderly monk rose and started making his way to them. 

Rinchen considered her. “Are you searching for a master?”

Elise choked. “Ah, no. There is a person who wants me to, ah, accept them, but it’s not at all what you’re describing.” 

Rinchen’s curiosity was plain. “Accept them? You mean like a husband? Or a partner in business?”

Elise ducked her head. “No, nothing like that.” 

“Ah.” Rinchen stopped himself, but was still curious. “What stops you from accepting them?” 

The elderly monk joined them at the cordon. Elise put her hands together and bowed to him. The old monk did likewise, bobbing up and down, smiling with delight. 

Rinchen introduced her in Tibetan, then turned to her. “My master, Geshe Lobsang. I translate for him, because he speaks only Tibetan, and some Chinese. He recognized you because you meditated with us.” Geshe Lobsang continued to nod and smile. Rinchen continued. “But you don’t want to accept this person?” They both looked at her.

“I don’t trust them.” Geshe Lobsang looked at Rinchen, who explained the question and translated her answer. The elder monk said something. 

Rinchen looked at her. “He asks if the man is asking you for money.”

“I didn’t say it was a man!” Elise flushed. “And no, he doesn’t want my money.”

Rinchen translated, then listened to the older monk. “Does he work, or is he lazy?”

“Oh goodness,” Elise felt the heat on her cheeks. She shifted from foot to foot, feeling completely transparent to both monks. “Yes, he works very hard. When I’ve seen him he’s…taken care of me. He, uh…fed me.”

“And now he wants you to accept him. Why don’t you trust him?” Before she could answer, Geshe Lobsang said something, gesturing with his hand at her. 

Rinchen translated. “My master says you are afraid. Your expectations are creating fear.” The elderly monk said something else. “A master can dispel the darkness for their disciples, but your courage must be your own.” 

“Listen, I’m not looking for a master, and some people are abusive and you should stay away from them.” 

Rinchen tipped his head, trying to understand. “You said this man took care of you. Did he also abuse you?”

Elise did not want to discuss Vincent Balthuman with two monks. “It’s complicated. I don’t think you or Geshe Lobsang could really understand…city people.” 

Rinchen translated this and the older monk burst out laughing. 

“Sometimes you need to defend yourself against bad people,” Elise insisted.

“You didn’t say before that he was bad,” Rinchen said after translating this, but was interrupted by Geshe Lobsang, who reached for her hand and held it between both of his. He looked into her eyes, his expression gentle, and spoke in Tibetan. 

“He says the defense against suffering is courage.” The old monk continued talking. “People are just people. In the city or the country, it is important to cultivate compassion. Find a way to let go of the need for certainty, and live without the shackles of fear.”

The old man released her hand and pointed at the sky, talking low and fast. 

“My master says you worry for a long time about the dark clouds. So many, so dark. What they might bring.” 

Geshe Lobsang clapped his hands together loudly, startling the other visitors in the room. He finished speaking and leaned back, beaming at her. 

Rinchen looked at her. He too was smiling. “He says, better to just let it rain.”

****************

Elise woke suddenly into absolute darkness. She couldn’t remember her dream, the fragments made no sense. She had been climbing a trail, the trail led to a high wall of five colors, she heard a restless humming sound, the ground shifted under her feet, she slipped. Then large hands caught her, pulled her into a dark wall, but the wall was a man’s chest, hard and warm, a feeling overwhelmed her, a feeling of relief. She clung to him, unseeing…

The fragments broke further, slipped out of her consciousness. She struggled to remember, but they were like soap bubbles she chased as a girl, bursting as her fingers touched them. 

She rolled over. Maybe because she was going home tomorrow, maybe because of her unsettling conversation with the monks, but Elise could not get back to sleep. She wished she had a watch, but she usually got the time from her phone, and her phone was secured in the main office. 

She sat up on the low cot. How long had she managed to sleep? Was it two a.m.? Three? 

_Maybe if I walk for a bit, I’ll be able to get back to sleep._

She slipped on her shoes and a light jacket. She lifted her flashlight, then put it back down. She didn’t need anything between her and the night. Outside of the cabin, the world was hushed. The human noises were gone once more, all sounds lost in the peaceful dark. The stars were bright overhead, the slightest crescent of the waxing moon was descending into the treetops. She moved away from the shadows of the flowering trees onto the path to the high meadow. 

During their free hours, Elise had seen people walking slowly around the circular path that skirted the meadow, their heads down, steps measured. Walking meditation. She hadn’t joined them, but now she would have the trail to herself. 

Walking in the shadow of the trees, it was so dark Elise kept one hand in front of her face to ward off stray branches. She let her feet be guided by the tiny sounds from her shoes, the feeling of the world under her feet. The scuff of her soles on dirt and flat leaves, the smooth bump of an exposed root, meant she was on the path. The rich crunch of tiny pebbles or many ripples of uneven earth meant she was at the edge and going astray. 

In this way she came to the edge of the meadow. The long unmown grasses shone faintly silver in the starlight. She listened for the sound of animals, near or far, but all was still. Elise began walking the meadow trail, slowly. Without conscious intention, she took stock of her senses. The deep bowl of the sky, tossed with the feeble fires of a thousand faraway suns, the trees of the ancient forest standing black in every direction, before her the soft upland grasses that had seen neither blade nor plow. The intense quiet of the night—even the wind had hushed. The air pressed around her, stripped of noise, but fraught with the smell of soil and leaves. She focused on the air as it entered her nose, traveled down the back of her throat. Red pine, heavy with resin. She could see the tops of those pines outlined against the stars. Birch trees as well, she stepped on their fallen catkins as she moved around the trail. Prickly wild rose, which must be crouched among the grasses in the field. Clematis, she had seen that in the daytime, vining up the trees at the edge of the forest, its delicate flowers just emerging. Mountain primrose, red bilberry, figwort. And everywhere, the mountain grasses. 

Elise had walked around the meadow at least twice, she wasn’t sure of time or counts. As she circled under the stars, were they circling her as well? The weak gleam of light on the meadow beckoned her, and she left the trail. She flung herself down on the grass, arms thrown wide. 

_How huge my pupils must be right now_ , she thought. It felt like the star-spattered blackness had descended to the tip of her nose. If she only put out her tongue she would taste a star. For some reason she thought of Zara. 

_Did she lay in this field like this? Did the stars fall all over her arms and legs and she never told me?_

Elise reflected. She understood that perfectly. How could she ever tell anyone about this moment? Information can be shared, directions given, vows taken and broken, but words can only go so far. The experience of walking blindly through the trees to this dark beauty, bursting into this poem of shadows and seeing the universe open before you, with such heartrending clarity, it can only be understood if you can find your way up the mountain yourself. 

Elise gasped as a brightness fired in the black, drawing a slow, fat line down toward the horizon. A slice of light like the point of a knife, cracking the sky, then gone. A meteor. Dust. An error of the cosmos, burnt away and transformed in one moment of beauty. 

_Vincent_ , she thought nonsensically.

 _He wants something from me. He wants me to...trust him?_ There was more than that. Elise concentrated. Vincent and all city things seemed so very far away. _He asked me questions,_ she thought. _I didn’t answer him. Why didn’t I answer him?_

She sought his voice in her head. What did he want? Watching the face of the sky, she heard him, low and urgent. 

_I want you to keep coming back to me. I want to keep fucking you. I want to do more than fuck you. I want to possess you. I want to draw things from you. I want to move past your barriers, I want you to give me your expressions, your secret faces. I want us to continue._

_A lot of wants_ , she thought. _He wasn’t shy about it._

_Then why would he hurt me? If he hurt me or even pushed me he wouldn’t get any of those things from me. The things he says he wants._

_Well, what did he ask from me?_ She delved again into memory. 

_What did you feel? Did you desire me? Do you long for me? For my gaze, my hands?_

_Simple,_ she thought. _Simple questions with simple answers_. 

_Again, it doesn’t make sense that he would hurt me. If he hurt me I would fear him, wouldn’t I? It would be impossible for me to long for him if I feared him._

_Do I fear him?_

She looked at the stars for a long time. A large pale bird glided noiselessly over her, no higher than the treetops, huge wings outstretched. _Owl,_ she thought. _Hunting._ Her eyes grew heavy.

 _No._ Her thoughts felt heavy as sleep descended. _No, I don’t fear him._

Elise’s eyes opened as her body convulsed with shivers. She had dozed off in the meadow. Dew had condensed on the surface of her jacket and leggings. The world glowed a soft pearl gray. The mist was rising, but it was thinner today, the forest dimly visible, spectral through its glamour. She sat up, undid her ponytail, and ran her fingers through her tangled hair. The stars were all but gone from the sky, subdued by the radiance surging in the east. As she stood, shaking the stiffness out of her limbs, a line of birds leapt from the grass at her long movements. Her eyes tracked them into the mist, black like moving holes in the sky. 

_Okay then,_ she thought. 

****************

The last day of the retreat had a holiday feel. People were cheerful and relaxed, chatting on the paths, exchanging emails. The sunshine was bright and warm, it was hard to believe five days had passed. After breakfast Elise ran up the hill to pack her things. Her neighbor at the cabins had offered her a lift to the train station, but wanted to leave immediately after the closing ceremony of the mandala. 

By the time she returned to the lodge, the small mandala room was packed with curious onlookers. Elise found a vantage near the door between two tall men where she could see a good section of the ceremony. 

If she craned her neck she could see the outer border of the mandala, the flames of wisdom and compassion. In her minds’ eye she saw the clouds and banners of victory, trees and protective parasols on the grounds outside of the intricate palace with its gates and towers. The red lotus at the center, delicate and perfect. 

She focused on the present moment. All six monks wore orange cloth wound around and over their red robes, and tall, bright yellow hats capped with jaunty fluff along the arch of the back ridge, rather like a horse’s mane. Four of the apprentices stood in a line at the back, two of them holding flared wooden flutes. The others held a drum and small cymbals.

Geshe Lobsang stood at the mandala, speaking quietly, with Rinchen beside him, translating. “…the mandala represents harmony in creation, as well as our human journey toward enlightenment. This week all of you practiced meditation. You disciplined your body, and settled your mind so you can see things clearly, as they truly are. 

“If you continue this practice, you will see how everything is changing, all around us, and in us. We are changing, inside ourselves, from moment to moment. Everything lacks permanence. 

“We suffer when we do not understand this. We chase after good things, pleasant things, try to preserve them. We avoid painful things, we fear them, try to avoid them. We become attached to a specific outcome. We feel certain we know what is best for us. We do everything we can to control what will happen because we are gripped by fear, and by our attachments. 

“Both of these paths, chasing pleasure, fearing pain, cause us to suffer. We can no more preserve good feelings than we can avoid unpleasant feelings. Change is our true nature. Therefore we learn to let good feelings go, let bad feelings go. We practice not clinging to good or bad. Then we can accept things as they truly are, changing, changing. 

“This is why this morning we happily destroy this beautiful painting which we spent so many hours creating. It is a teaching for you, a lesson. Be happy, do not cling to what is beautiful, for everything is impermanent.”

Smiling, Geshe Lobsang retrieved a bell from the altar. Rinchen joined the other monks and they chanted as the elderly monk walked in a circle around the mandala, ringing the bell. The chanting resonated so low, so powerful, that Elise felt it in her skeleton. The deep sound seemed to vibrate the floorboards under her feet. 

Emotion rippled through Elise. She dropped to a crouch, her hands touching the floor. Through the legs in front of her the colors of the mandala looked so vibrant. Her eyes traveled again over the straight colors of the walls and gates. Even though it was simply grains of sand, the lines and colors were distinct, perfect. Green and blue and red and yellow. Golden. Pure white. The mathematics of the shapes, the ratios, the reflections embedded in the pattern. Her heart opened. The painting did contain the universe. Beneath her stomach she felt an unfamiliar ache. 

Geshe Lobsang returned the bell and knelt at the edge of the mandala. With a golden metal piece in his hand, he pushed inward, dividing it with his knuckle from edge to center. Slowly shifting his position around the mandala, he sliced it into eight sections, like a pizza. Behind him the other monks continued their chanting.

The ache in Elise’s gut rose. The elderly monk leaned over the pattern, careful of his robes, his hand drawing the final long, smooth cut, the floor revealed eight times over like spokes of a wheel. Elise’s throat closed. Each gate was split, the walls were breached. The flower torn apart. She felt the lacerations in her own spirit, the unmistakable rupture of grief.

Geshe Lobsang stepped back and two apprentices stepped forward, each with a flat paintbrush in their hand. They began to brush the sand toward the center in long strokes. The stern walls collapsed, the colors merged, becoming indistinguishable. The palace had fallen. Elise’s eyes felt hot, her breath hitched. 

_No._

She struggled for control as tears began to leak from her eyes. 

_Why am I crying? Nobody else is crying. They all see some cool cultural thing. What is wrong with me?_

Her lips twisted. She ducked her head and escaped the room, through the lobby into the sunshine. She ran lightly along the closest path, toward the bath house, then off the path into the trees. No one was around. She leaned against a pine, and let herself weep. 

_God, why am I like this? It’s just a painting in sand. That’s the whole point, to destroy it._

But still she mourned. The colors, each true, each their own, the symbols and symmetry, reduced to a gray pile, only the white chalk lines remaining, and soon enough they too would be washed away. 

_It’s so painful,_ she thought. _For time to be so short._

The keening sounds of the flutes reached her, punctuated by the deeper sound of the hand drum. She pushed those thoughts away, wiped her eyes, and returned to the path. The monks were processing toward the lower end of the grounds where a mountain stream flowed along the edge of the property. The crowd followed behind in a long line. 

Elise inhaled and trailed after them. At the stream she stood back. Geshe Lobsang was pouring a metal container of sand into the water, and tossing in handfuls of petals from the flowers that had been on the altar. He was talking, and Rinchen translated, but she could not hear what they said. 

As the monks finished speaking, the crowd dispersed. A few people clapped. Her ride caught her eye and gestured to her. She held up one finger to delay him, and made her way to the monks. Rinchen had taken off his hat, folded it under his arm. He smiled as she approached. 

“I just wanted to say goodbye and thank you,” Elise said, putting her hands together in respectful greeting, just as he did. 

“Ah, good, my Master had a gift for you.” Rinchen reached into his robes and pulled out a small glass vial. It was full of sand. At first glance it looked gray, but when Elise looked closely she saw all the brightly colored grains of the mandala. 

“We pour the sand in the stream, so that the blessing from the mandala can travel far and wide. This stream will go to the Narin River, and then into the sea, and then around the world. But this is for you. A personal blessing for your health and healing.” He bobbed with excitement. 

Even through her sorrow, Elise couldn’t help smiling. _He’s like a big puppy._

She looked again at the glass vial. Tiny flecks of green and yellow, red and blue. Her heart squeezed. She gripped it tightly. 

“Thank you,” she said. 

Geshe Lobsang came up behind Rinchen. He spoke, his eyes twinkling. 

“He says he thought he saw you at the ceremony then you vanished,” said Rinchen. “He says you’ve definitely mastered impermanence.” 

“Haha,” the old monk added. 

Elise giggled. “I’m sorry, I wanted to stay. But I got very emotional.” 

Rinchen translated. “He says, this is good. It means the compassion in your heart was awakened.” 

Geshe Lobsang cocked his head at her, continued talking. 

“People see compassion as weak, opening your heart as weak, but the opposite is true. Fear, needing to control, these arise from weakness. Compassion arises from strength.”

They walked back up to the lodge. Elise had left her bags with her phone and valuables in the main office. She saw the person giving her a ride pulling up in front of the building. 

“It’s really hard to give up control, though. Doing so creates more fear,” Elise said. “It’s so hard to trust other people. Hard to have faith in them.” 

Rinchen translated, and the older monk chuckled. He spoke and Rinchen laughed. Elise looked at them. Geshe Lobsang smiled kindly at her as Rinchen repeated his words.

“He says if this is what you have been worrying about, you have been barking at the wrong tree.” Geshe Lobsang nodded. “Many beliefs ask people to have faith in this or trust in that. In our tradition faith means confidence, but not in other people, or teachings. It is important to doubt other people, even your teachers.” 

The elder monk paused, then touched Rinchen’s arm and spoke again. They both focused on Elise. “So don’t worry about trusting other people. To let go of your fear, the only one you need to have confidence in is yourself.” 

Her ride honked his horn. The older monk put his hands together in a respectful farewell, and Rinchen helped her load her bag into the car.

****************

Elise threw her bag on the bed and ran to her small kitchen. She hurried back with a carafe of water and divided it between her sadly wilted plants. She glanced around the small familiar room, then opened her window and looked down to the modest green space between her building and the sidewalk below. The purplebloom maples were small and spindly, but the hibiscus trees were thick and covered in pink and white blossoms, bravely waving at the traffic and the preoccupied pedestrians.

She inhaled deeply, then regretted it. The humid city air felt acrid in her lungs. Elise looked at her phone. Zara wanted to go out this evening and hear all about her week. She would have to change and shower quickly to be on time. 

Elise reached into her pocket and placed the small vial of sand on the window sill. Looking at it made her feel confident. She felt her phone in her hand, hard and angular. 

_I know what he wants. But more to the point, I know what I want._

She looked at his contact. _V.B._ Without hesitation, she typed a short message and pressed send. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ends Part 2, Come to Zaddy. 
> 
> Elise and Vincent's story continues, and concludes, in Part 3, Zaddy's Girl.


End file.
